


Logical Erotics

by EntreNous



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Angst, Cadet Jim Kirk, Consent Issues, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Professor Spock, Semi-Public Sex, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 63,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just returned from a difficult space mission and about to begin teaching at Starfleet Academy, Spock chooses a logical way to relieve stress: a sexual encounter with someone he'll never meet again.  But when Spock discovers his partner of one night is Jim Kirk, a promising new cadet at Starfleet, he's torn between his rational decision to avoid intimate relationships and his increasing fascination with Jim.  As Spock's normally orderly life starts to spin out of control, will his obsession with Jim prove his salvation or his undoing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Commander Spock stood at parade rest at the edge of the busy docking area, calmly awaiting his opportunity to bid farewell to his captain of six and three quarter's months. All around him, other officers and crewmen of the USS Farragut chattered and laughed, some of them hugging or vigorously shaking hands as they prepared to part ways and continue on to whatever awaited them upon their return to Earth. 

"Hey, Spock! You headed home to Vulcan for a visit?" his fellow shipmate Lieutenant Lo asked. Lo hefted a duffel bag full of his belongings over his shoulder and mustered up a weary smile. 

"Negative," Spock told him, keeping his own expression suitably blank. "I have accepted a teaching position at Starfleet Academy for the next academic year, with an option to renew the appointment should my performance prove sufficient."

The lieutenant whistled with what Spock understood to signify admiration and envy. "That's great. I'm sure they'll try to keep hold of you for as long as they can. Me, I've got four weeks with the wife and kids before I head out into the black again."

"I see. I had thought your leave was scheduled for two weeks only." Spock had gone over the leave grants himself twenty-eight days ago; typically, such plans did not change after their initial approval.

Lo paused, a startled look flickering over his face before he again assumed his normally cheerful expression. "Well, when they offered the leave extension after our last mission, I wasn't going to say no." There was a pause, and Lo cleared his throat. "Sorry you can't take it yourself. You probably have to report at the start of classes no matter what happens. Seems kind of unfair, especially considering --"

"Even without the constraints of the Academy's calendar," Spock interrupted him, "I would have been unlikely to avail myself of such an opportunity."

Lo nodded slowly. There should have been no surprise on his face, Spock reflected; he and every other crewman aboard the Farragut were by now well acquainted with Spock's disinclination to spend over much time on leisure pursuits. 

"Well. See you around, then," Lo offered. He hurried away before Spock could offer a farewell of his own.

"Mister Spock," Captain Coutinho called amiably, waving Spock to his side. A pair of ensigns crossed the room after having taken their own leave of the captain, nodding at Spock as they passed. 

"I thank you once more for the opportunity to serve under you, sir," Spock said immediately when he reached Coutinho. 

"As I said to you last night, you've done a fine job, and I've no doubt you'll excel in instructing our latest crop of cadets." Coutinho looked as though he would very much like to grasp Spock encouragingly on the shoulder, as he often did when praising those he commanded. 

Spock raised his hand in the ta'al as a way to convey his own well-wishes, bowing his head slightly when Coutinho mirrored the gesture as best he could. 

"I hope you'll keep in touch, Spock."

"I will of course communicate with you when appropriate to update you on matters concerning my career."

The captain smiled, though he seemed distracted. "If you ever want to talk, about whatever challenges you're facing...or, say, any of the missions, like the one we just concluded on Cataclys..."

Spock tilted his head to the side. "I have of course submitted all of the necessary reports detailing my reactions to you already."

"That you have." Coutinho exhaled. He seemed about to speak again, but his yeoman appeared at his elbow, holding out a PADD for him to sign. "Duty calls," he said with a last smile before shifting his focus to his task. 

"Of course." Spock turned immediately and made his way to the turbo lift. He was certainly not avoiding any further conversation with his captain or any other officers and crewmen, he told himself. He had merely decided to move on because it was an appropriate time to depart.

The lift door slid shut on him, the lone passenger, turning all the noise of the leave-taking on the shuttle deck to silence.

****************

Though Spock had several days to "move in" to his assigned faculty apartment, within an hour of his arrival to the unit he had easily settled his few possessions in the already-furnished space.

He stood at the windows in his bedroom, taking in the activity on the street below and considering how he might pass what remained of the evening. Though meditation would be appropriate later, at the present moment he felt too restless to devote his attention to the practice. Additionally, most Starfleet facilities would be closed at this time, making the late evening hour not conducive to study or research. 

In any case, he judged the energy he could feel pent up inside him would be best expended in a physical fashion. Were he still aboard the Farragut, he might have sought out a partner for sparring in the ship's gym, one of his few outlets for excess corporeal drive during space travel. Now that he was on Earth, however, other even more desirable diversions were once again available.

He glanced back at the tautly-made bed, considering. 

Deeming himself surely acclimated enough to his new living space for the moment, he quickly fetched his communicator so that he might arrange conveyance to a dance club found some distance from the campus. The venue would likely prove most advantageous for his purposes of locating and engaging an appealing partner for sexual congress; the location, situated far from the Academy, would make certain very few of his prospects would be members of Starfleet. 

Spock felt the low thrum of sensual need he had kept at bay these past months increase until it became a steady beat along his nerves and in his veins urging him on. 

His somewhat brief assignment on the USS Farragut had not allowed for extended shore leave, and had thus interfered with Spock's chances to meet suitable partners with whom he might engage in coitus. In a few days, the fall semester would begin, and the flurry of meetings and extra duties associated with the start of the term would leave him little time for socializing, particularly given his status as a new instructor. Indeed, there were many logical reasons to utilize this night to find a companion for the mutual pursuit of physical release.

As he carefully set aside his uniform, Spock considered his few civilian clothing options before he pulled on a pair of black trousers that fitted his legs closely. Moments later he chose a dark grey tunic that adhered to his torso. 

Receiving confirmation via his communicator that his transport had arrived outside, Spock irrationally took one last look at himself in the full-length mirror installed in the room. The black boots he had selected added a slight elevation to his height, which many of his potential partners seemed to find most alluring. 

For a moment he held his own gaze in the reflection, observing the anticipation but also the steadiness in his eyes before leaving the building.

****************

"Wait, wait, wait -- you actually just go right ahead and fuck people?" Spock's first-year roommate at the Academy had asked in amazement during their initial conversation on the topic. "But you don't like to be touched! So how does that --" and here he waved his arms about wildly, " _work_?"

"Vulcans do not welcome illogical or unnecessary bodily contact," Spock corrected him. "The understandable and expected addressing of physical urges is, by contrast, logical and necessary. It follows clearly that touching a partner during sexual interaction is not only appropriate but highly rational."

"Isn't it weird if you can read their minds, though?" Cadet Martin asked, his voice breaking.

Spock regarded his roommate with barely disguised impatience, not for the first time privately ruing Martin's required enrollment in _Introduction to Xenocultural Norms and Customs_. Though they were still at the start of their first term at Starfleet, Martin seemed to consider Spock a test subject of sorts. He continually posed questions about this or that Vulcan practice he encountered in his readings and lectures. No session of Martin's examinations on the matter was as irksome as discussing the subject of Spock's sexual experience, however.

"Assuming that the Vulcan in question has appropriate mental shields in place, as would of course be sound," Spock began, "no transgression of the mind -- such as detecting their partner's thoughts without express permission -- will take place." 

"Oh." And with that one word, Martin managed to sound both appeased and slightly disappointed. 

Had Cadet Martin's questions stemmed only from his theoretical studies of Vulcans that might have been the end of the matter. It had been somewhat unfortunate then that Martin was present at an informal campus event when Spock obtained the attentions of one of the most desirable guests and left with her. The resulting assignation had been most satisfactory. Dealing with Martin's resulting questions, however, was not. 

"So you think it's fine if, you know --" Martin said the next time Spock returned from a tryst. Spock suppressed a sigh upon viewing Martin awaiting him at his computer, much as if he had positioned himself there precisely to speak to Spock upon his reentry. 

"Elaborate," Spock said at last when no further clarification seemed forthcoming.

Martin glanced at him and quickly looked away, his cheeks heating. "So I get that you're okay with touching people for, uh, sexy purposes. But I still don't get how it's cool if you hook up with random prospects. I mean, I thought Vulcans were all with the lifetime bonding."

"Indeed, Vulcans hold bonds as sacred." Spock started to strip efficiently in preparation for a shower.

His roommate's gaze flickered over him again, most likely trained upon the evidence of small bruises and bites on Spock's person, which from his widened eyes he apparently found somewhat scandalous. Spock, who considered such marks typical indications of enthusiastic sexual congress, merely finished undressing. 

"But doesn't that mean you can't --" and here Spock's roommate looked up at the ceiling and thrust his fist in the air several times in an unsophisticated signal of intercourse. "With just anyone?"

"Why would that mean such a thing?" Spock asked curiously. He slipped into the robe he wore for proceeding from their room to the showers as he spoke. "Is it not rational to find outlets for the expenditure of sexual energies? Is it not healthy for all species to seek partners for mutual relief of and pursuit of sensual pleasures?"

"I guess?" Martin replied, his voice rising dubiously. He seemed both disinclined and yet avid to regard Spock now, in turn looking away with flushed cheeks and then blatantly staring, presumably at what he could glimpse of Spock's bare chest. 

Spock ignored Martin's attentions and gathered the uniform he would need to change into after his shower. "Certainly after a Vulcan is bonded, their mate provides partnership on all levels," he answered his roommate. "But until then, seeking sexual activities with any variety of partners is appropriate and even logical expenditure of erotic drive that would otherwise inhibit calm and ordered minds."

"Wow," Martin had said, shaking his head as if in wonder. " _Wow._ "

"Indeed," Spock replied for lack of a better response, and departed.

****************

There had been occasions during Spock's youth when he felt embarrassment surrounding the topic of sexual joining. His discomfort, however, had been due to a misapprehension that other Vulcans would find him an unworthy object of desire. After all, at issue was his status as not only a near-friendless individual, but indeed his widely known and disparaged origin as the product of a Vulcan and Human union.

How wrong Spock had been! As he attained his full-grown height and gained the toned physique of an adult Vulcan, Spock's peers began to find him an exciting and exotic specimen. There was no lack of candidates for sexual exploration when he looked for them. Indeed, he found partners even amid those who had previously deemed him a target for bullying.

He realized the full extent of his error in judgment about his own appeal when his former childhood nemesis Stonn approached him. 

They encountered one another at a museum in Shi'Kahr, both navigating an extensive exhibit devoted to the evolution of the Vulcan Lute. Upon recognizing Stonn, Spock gave a slight nod and prepared to approach the exhibit from the opposite direction. However, Stonn diverted his path to follow Spock's.

"You play," Stonn remarked curtly when he joined Spock in regarding an early pre-Reformation example of the lute.

"Affirmative." Spock continued to study the explanatory placard next to the instrument, though it contained information he already had committed to memory. Though Spock anticipated Stonn's departure at any moment, the other man did not leave Spock's side.

"I would not be averse to hearing you perform," Stonn at last continued gruffly. "With no one else present," he clarified.

At this, Spock turned to stare at his former foe. Such an invitation to play privately, even unappealingly worded as it was, was irrefutably sexual in nature. Though he had particularly disliked Stonn when they were children, Spock could not dispute Stonn's masculine appeal. His sturdy frame was muscular, and his slightly aggressive manner suggested a banked passion that Spock found compelling. 

Additionally, Spock could admit to himself this opportunity to "get his own back" (to employ the odd idiom that his mother had occasionally reiterated) had a peculiar but undeniable appeal.

"I would consider playing for you," Spock said evenly as their eyes met in the reflection of the glass display case. 

Stonn's sharp intake of breath and slight olive flush at his cheekbones had sealed the decision. 

So he had indeed taken Stonn to his bed, along with a variety of others who caught his eye. They would approach Spock at traditional gatherings like organized tournaments of kal-toh players, or intellectual opportunities like talks at the Vulcan Science Academy. He soon learned to observe the small twitches of their fingertips or their increased rates of blinking, signaling to him that a physical encounter would be considered most welcome. 

By the time Spock refused the VSA's offer and instead accepted the invitation to attend Starfleet Academy, he had a few regular partners. All of them expressed regret in their stoic fashions that they would lose access to him and his sexual skills. 

Stonn in particular had viewed Spock's approaching departure as an inconvenience. He even spoke of pursuing various opportunities on Earth, all of them near Spock. In the end, Spock had to explain bluntly that while he found it satisfying to observe Stonn reduced to uttering irrational phrases during their bouts of erotic entanglement, he had no intention of considering Stonn an acceptable long-term romantic partner or a potential mate. 

Later, Spock would realize that "breaking up," as Earthers termed it, could prove just as irksome with a Vulcan as with a human. Stonn's formal presentation of logical points as to why he and Spock should continue their association had been quite lengthy and most tiresome.

****************

As for humans, once he relocated to Earth Spock soon judged his appeal to prospective partners had increased by as much as twenty-six percent. Whether it was the unusual shape of his ears (by Terran standards, of course), the green tint of his skin (oddly thought exotic on other planets) or his unemotional demeanor (which apparently lent an enthralling mysterious air to his person), he could not say definitively.

He could, however, bring Cadet Martin's series of questions regarding Spock's sexual proclivities to an end. At the next awkward session, Spock explained, "Though I am open to further abstract consideration of the topic, I should clarify that I have no interest in sexual intercourse with you, Martin."

"Oh, right, yeah. Not like I would -- even that -- I mean --" Martin blustered. His ears turned scarlet, and he quickly swiveled back to his computer. The subject did not arise between them again. 

Though Cadet Martin did not tempt Spock's attentions, others certainly did. During his time as a student in San Francisco Spock even conducted several relationships, though none lasted longer than four months. It seemed inadvisable to continue past that point, as soon after humans apparently began to raise topics like cohabitation, the introduction of various family members, or the mutual procurement of domestic animals.

Ultimately, Spock judged even temporary relationships with other Starfleet members a distraction, too time-consuming. After all, he would bond eventually. Entering into a lengthy association with someone who might eventually entertain ideas of commitment Spock did not intend to fulfill seemed imprudent. And sharing a campus -- or a starship -- with such individuals invariably became awkward. Though he did not waver in his decisions, he admitted he found some of the emotional responses...unpleasant.

Additionally, now that Spock had achieved the post of instructor, he added a logical extension to his earlier policy. Though there was no specific protocol requiring him to do so, he would avoid any emotional and sexual entanglements with cadets at the Academy.

****************

Fortunately for Spock's future erotic prospects, there were such venues as the one he was now on his way to, well out of the way of the normal sphere of socializing for Starfleet's students, officers, and enlisted personnel. He would keep his academic and sexual spheres completely separate, and find greater peace of mind for it.

Just as Spock had thought, when he had paid the driver of the vehicle upon arrival and was quickly waved in to enter the club, he did not recognize any of the patrons from Starfleet. 

He was pleased to note there were a variety of appealing denizens of the establishment tonight. Indeed, there were so many attractive people that Spock was at first content merely to survey the inhabitants as he sipped his mineral water drink. 

He had chosen to linger in the largest room, designated primarily for dancing, and situated himself at the smaller and more shadowed of its two bars. Though he knew from past experiences that a more visible position would garner him approaches and offers almost immediately, he wished to take his time and choose someone himself. After all, he only had a few nights remaining to him before he would be absorbed by his teaching work. It would be most rational to pursue a very memorable encounter with a highly pleasing individual rather than merely satiate his desires with the first interested party.

He scanned the crowd, assessing candidates. The occupants of the room were almost to a one male, as befit his inclinations for the evening. As he finished his beverage and signaled for another, he ruled out several men: some due to their flirtation with and proximity to someone else; others because of his lack of interest in their physical attributes; and several because of their obviously advanced state of inebriation that would render their consent to any sexual acts invalid.

At one point Spock spotted a highly attractive male, dark-skinned and quite slim, who was laughing with a group of friends at the other bar. The individual seemed focused on his companions but would peer at the crowd with unmistakable interest every so often, indicating his readiness to locate a partner. 

When Spock raised his glass to his lips to take another drink, his eyes fixed on the handsome specimen, the man noticed him. He smiled in a very charming manner, seeming somewhat abashed at being caught staring but also obviously pleased at Spock's interest.

Spock lowered his glass to the bar top and held the man's gaze, wordlessly declaring his intent. Intriguingly, his potential partner ducked his head slightly and grinned. Seeing no reason to delay any longer with such a promising candidate available and inclined, Spock took a step forward. 

Before he could make his way any further, however, Spock sputtered as he found the contents of someone else's beverage clumsily spilled on his face and garments.

"Jesus fuck, I am so, so sorry," the holder of two now-empty glasses apologized immediately. His own wrists and hands were dripping with the same liquid he had splashed on Spock. Yet the expression on his face indicated he might be more inclined to laugh aloud at their mutual predicament rather than look appropriately chagrined for his responsibility in causing it. 

"I didn't see you there, and it's so freaking dark on this side of the club," the stranger explained, his brows furrowed as he saw the extent of the damage to Spock's garments. He discarded the wet glasses atop the bar counter. When he turned back to Spock a small insouciant grin finally escaped. "I really hope you like pomegranates, because you're going to smell like one for the rest of the night."

"Though I have no objection to that particular Terran fruit, I also did not intend to wear its scent for the remainder of the evening," Spock said stiffly. He took the heap of paper napkins his unwitting assailant thrust at him, waving away the man's efforts to help with the task of drying his apparel. 

As soon as his clothing was sufficiently blotted, Spock glanced back, taking in the appearance of his unwelcome conversational partner more fully.

Perhaps he was not so unwelcome as all that, Spock allowed. His eyes dropped to make observation of well-worn fitted denim trousers, the tight t-shirt outlining a most becoming abdominal area, and the stretch of fabric across his broad shoulders. In addition, the man had arresting blue eyes, attractive dark blond hair styled to appear as if it had been recently mussed from a sensual encounter, and an agile looking tongue that flicked out to wet his lips nervously. Even over the cloying scent of pomegranate, Spock could register the inviting scent of this recent arrival -- a blend of simple soap, clean smelling sweat, and an underlying hint of musk. 

While Spock watched, he witnessed his new acquaintance experience a vasodilation that turned his cheeks an inviting shade of pink. Additionally, the expansion of his pupils increased substantially, making the unusual blue color of his eyes even more striking. 

As if discerning Spock's increased concentration on him, he leaned into Spock's personal space even more than he had done earlier, when he had awkwardly attempted to pat away the worst of the moisture clinging to Spock's clothing. 

"I believe you will need to replace the drinks you were procuring for yourself and your companion," Spock said at once. If the attempt to persuade this man to join him in an assignation would be a fruitless endeavor due to a prior arrangement with another party, he wished to know as soon as possible. 

"What?" the man asked dazedly, his eyes on Spock's mouth. "Oh, those," he added quickly, obviously having come back to his senses enough to remember the task that had set him in Spock's path. "Yeah, those were actually both for me. I mean, I'm not here with anyone." He flashed a wide smile at Spock, not at all disarmed at finding Spock scrutinizing him. "Kind of a liquid courage thing, you know?" 

"I do not think you are in need of such an aid," Spock observed. "You seem to have an inordinate amount of confidence already."

The man gave a surprised laugh before his expression changed to a spirited grin and beguilingly lowered eyelashes. "Well, yes and no," he allowed. When Spock prepared to ask him to clarify his contradictory statement, he glanced over Spock's shoulder. His blue eyes widened slightly. "Whoops? Looks like maybe I got in the middle of something."

Spock turned to view the attractive dark-skinned man he had almost approached looking disappointed. Spock gave him a civil nod, and his earlier prospect shrugged in resignation, smiling slightly as if to communicate that there would be no injured feelings. 

"Or maybe not," the man at Spock's side said, a slight edge of displeasure to his voice. "Listen, if you want to get over to your friend --"

"I am content where I am," Spock answered simply, making certain to offer his full attention once again.

The young man -- for he was younger than Spock, surely, though he seemed respectably of age -- gave Spock another quick cocky curve of his lips, that former confidence returning in full. 

"Would you be content somewhere else, as long as I'm there too?" the man asked, his voice mischievous.

"What sort of relocation did you imagine we might undertake?" Spock asked.

"Well, there's always the dance floor." At this the young man's gaze swept up and down Spock's body in blatant approval. "I don't know how much you like dancing, but I wouldn't mind moving in a little closer to you." 

"I find dancing a worthwhile diversion. But I believe that now I would be more interested in a shift to a place where I can take off your clothing and taste your skin," Spock answered calmly.

The man's lips parted in surprise, and Spock took a moment to enjoy his partner's tempting mouth. After a moment he laughed again. "Wow, you do _not_ waste time. I knew I was going to like you as soon as I poured those drinks all over your shirt."

"Illogical." Such instinctual reactions of affinity for another individual, particularly in the case of a situation likely to generate conflict, seemed to him highly questionable. 

"If you want logic, I don't know if I'm your guy," the man joked. His words were pronounced with the ease of one who was used to companions assuring him he was in fact a highly desirable choice. But they also hinted he was the sort of individual who in fact required such assurances on occasion. 

"What I want from you has little to do with logic," Spock admitted. His voice sounded rough to his own ears. Its tenor apparently pleased his intended company for the evening, he noted with interest. This time the pleasant pink flush on his cheeks spread in an enticing sweep of color across his collarbone. Gazing at him, Spock felt the growing urge to map its extent with his fingertips and tongue. 

"Okay, then it looks like I am your guy," the man replied at once, his low tones matching Spock's more intimate pitch of volume. "I'm definitely up for the pursuit of illogical activities." The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Do you want to get out of here?" 

Spock tilted his head to the side, considering. "I do not know if I can wait for the duration of time it would take to transport the both of us to an alternate location."

The man grinned at him, clearly pleased at Spock's expression of limited patience. "Well, come on then. If you don't mind something a little spur of the moment, I bet we can figure something out."

"Lead on," Spock replied. He did not know whether this newfound acquaintance actually possessed knowledge of the building's layout and possible places for a rendezvous. But it was quite agreeable to observe his companion depart first, providing Spock with a clear view of his aesthetically superior backside.


	2. Chapter 2

"Let's just get this off you," the man murmured to Spock as soon as they were alone. 

His fingers nimbly slipped under Spock's tunic and drew it off his torso with far more attention to skimming Spock's exposed skin along the way than strictly necessary. Yet, given how the man's breath hitched as he continued to reveal Spock's body, the process seemed worth the additional time.

They had found their way just a few minutes prior to what seemed to be a closet in which janitorial supplies were stored. Spock chose to overlook the fact that his companion had been easily able to override the keypad locking system, instead focusing on the boon of gaining entrance to an area which could be closed to others.

Though Spock had participated in trysts which took place in men's lavatories or back rooms expressly dedicated to fleeting sexual encounters, he generally favored alternatives when available. Musty though it smelled, this room was vastly preferable for its privacy, even with the fine layer of dust covering its containers and cleaning implements. 

Additionally, such a private enclosure would allow for a greater degree of nudity. Though proceeding with erotic encounters in which one or both participants remained almost completely clothed had an appeal, given the fit body of his current companion he wished to see as much of him as possible. So great was his anticipation that even when the man flung Spock's tunic to the questionably clean floor, Spock did not protest; indeed, the act of carelessness spurred rather than dampened Spock's keenness.

"God, you're gorgeous," the man blurted. "Seriously, you're even better than I thought you would be." He ran his fingers appreciatively over Spock's chest hair before dragging his palms down Spock's pectoral muscles and along his abdomen. His increased arousal was plainly evident in his huffs of breath and the way he wet his lips with his nimble tongue. "I can't believe you came back here with me instead of someone else." He looked up at Spock quickly, blue eyes wide and apprehensive before he gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Hey, ignore me; I'm babbling here." 

Perhaps it would have been advisable to do so, ignore the odd contrast of confidence and uncertainty this man seemed to betray at times; Spock was reminded of his companion's mixed assurance of and neediness for validation earlier at the bar. His partner's personal insecurities were of no consequence to him, obviously; after all, this was intended as an encounter lasting only for the duration of the evening. 

And yet Spock instantly cupped the man's jawline and cheek in his hand in the sort of gesture he would typically employ only with a more emotionally intimate partner. He absently noted the highly pleasing way the man turned his face toward Spock's palm, eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against it. "I am disinclined to ignore you. Tonight I wish to hear all the words you feel moved to express, and all the sounds you find yourself compelled to make." 

"Yeah, okay," the man breathed out, his voice shaky. He tipped his chin up invitingly, obviously interested in a Terran mouth kiss. 

It gave Spock a second's pause, only because he had learned human partners often eschewed such gestures when physical encounters were intended as singular events. Regardless of his own seemingly demonstrative gesture of a moment ago, he had no intentions of making this encounter the start of a prolonged relationship. His academic commitments as a new instructor made extended arrangements with a romantic partner unwise, even with someone who was not a member of Starfleet. Still, he could not help but find this man's ready impulses for affection intriguing despite all of his resolutions. 

So after a pause which a human would not likely register as such, Spock slipped his hand to adjust the man's chin upward and met those soft seeking lips with his own.

The appreciative groan his gesture met made the attempt immediately worth it. Evidently the other man had taken Spock's request that he express his desires aloud seriously. Though Spock's Vulcan responses were more often than not silent, he greatly enjoyed it when his human partners vocalized their physical pleasure.

Spock had hoped his partner would prove voluble during their sexual pursuits based on the joking and irreverent conversation from him earlier; it would seem this particular wish would be gratified. 

Spock teased the seam of man's lips with the tip of his tongue. His companion complied at once with a shaky sigh, obviously enjoying the way Spock took command of the kiss. The helpless and pleased noise he made when Spock thrust his tongue inside more aggressively was most engaging. 

"Take off your shirt," Spock instructed. 

"Don't you want to do it for me?" his partner asked with a grin. Despite his slightly mocking challenge, his fingertips quickly moved to his shirt, demonstrating his decision to obey.

Spock drew his hands behind the small of his back, visibly demonstrating he would not interfere with the procedure, at least for the moment. "My desire is to watch you disrobe."

The man laughed with no little delight. "Fuck, you're hot. Okay, so what am I supposed to call you?" He smiled archly as he made a show of the process, crossing his arms in front of him and slowly lifting his top. He even twisted slightly as he revealed more of his body, showing off the corded muscles along his abdomen and sides and even giving Spock a flash of the dimples just above the waist of his low-slung jeans. The demonstration was quite effective, as it made Spock wish to stroke his torso and mark all of that smooth skin with his teeth and nails.

As more appealing pink-flushed flesh was revealed, Spock stepped forward and followed the previous method of his partner, running the pads of his fingers over soft warm human skin. When he glided the tips of his thumbs over his partner's nipples -- light brown medium rounds that Spock decided he would later spend some time running his tongue over -- his companion arched into the contact and pressed closer. 

Yet he was not entirely distracted, because though he seemed mesmerized as he watched Spock's nails lightly scratching along his pectorals, he repeated in a murmur, "So what should I call you?"

"Do you require a name with which to address me?" Spock asked. He rarely revealed his name when engaged in erotic exercises unless someone appeared to think it a necessity; to him it seemed superfluous for a one-time encounter. Those who asked could often be distracted from the inquiry with an intensification of physical contact. Though not this man, who apparently could track multiple priorities even while becoming increasingly aroused.

"No, but it's more fun that way," Spock's companion told him. He drew one of Spock's hands to the small of his back, obviously relishing the way Spock tightened his hold on him and drew them closer together. He leaned forward, the stubble on his cheek rasping against Spock's smooth one, and encircled his wrists around Spock's neck. 

For a few moments they kissed again, breaths beginning to come faster, deliberately pushing their erections together through the fabric of their trousers. 

"I mean," the man panted out when he pulled back to gasp for air, "You don't want me calling out someone else's name later on, do you?"

"I do not," Spock decided as he bit lightly along the man's smooth neck. Fleeting though their contact might be, he found the notion of this man pronouncing his name during a fit of passion unduly tempting. "You may call me Spock."

"Jim," the man offered in return with a quick smile. He dropped his t-shirt behind him with little more care than he had shown for Spock's attire and immediately brushed his lips against Spock's again. 

The name issues summarily dealt with, Spock allowed himself to appreciate Jim's penchant for kissing. Jim's mouth was pliant and warm, and Spock enthusiastically availed himself of that willing mouth at the same time he scratched lightly up Jim's back. When Jim sighed with pleasure, Spock dipped his head briefly to scrape his teeth along the tendon of his partner's neck. 

"What do you want, Spock?" Jim murmured. He bit lightly at Spock's ear, evidently fascinated (as so many of Spock's human partners seemed to be) by its Vulcan outline. His pelvis curled forward in a restless rhythm, enabling him to rub his stiff cock against Spock's thigh. "Do you want to fuck me? Because I'd definitely be down for that."

"Indeed, I would also be amenable to that act," Spock told him hoarsely, dropping his hand down, insinuating it between them to cup Jim's enticingly sizable erection. 

At the touch, Jim's hips jerked forward immediately and Jim bit his lip. His golden lashes fluttered, and glimpses of the partly hidden clear blue of his eyes coaxed Spock closer. 

"I find your form most pleasing," Spock remarked as he slid his other hand down to squeeze and grope Jim's posterior. 

"Yeah? Me too," Jim answered breathlessly. He snickered a second later as his syntactical implication plainly caught his attention, adding, "Your body, though. I mean, sure, I know _I'm_ hot."

Spock merely raised a single eyebrow at this egotistical declaration. Though Spock typically found arrogance an impediment to his continued interest in an individual, Jim's brash manner enticed him. Perhaps it was the way Jim's seemingly vain declarations so clearly aimed to attain Spock's approval, in the same way a bird might show off its brilliant plumage to a much desired potential mate. 

Perhaps also Spock found Jim's cocksure assertion appropriate because Jim was truly one of the most attractive beings Spock had gained access to in quite some time. His praise of Jim's attributes was not mere blandishment, but rather an appropriate assessment of facts. 

"But all this you've got going on," Jim added, smiling a private sort of smile as he stroked up and down Spock's sides, "is pretty fucking amazing." His breathing became heavier as he continued to caress Spock's skin, all the while rocking against Spock's lightly manipulating hand. 

Spock kept the pressure of his fingers steady but teasing. He always generally enjoyed this moment of anticipation, before he and his partner saw one another completely naked. Given Jim's highly pleasing responsiveness, such eagerness logically increased by manifold degrees. That their chosen location would allow for a greater degree of nudity seemed to Spock most serendipitous. 

For now, as he traced the plump head of Jim's erection through the fabric with his thumb, Spock felt a rush of pleasure. He focused avidly on the sight of that tantalizing high flush on Jim's cheeks growing darker still and the light sheen of sweat beginning to shimmer at his brow. Even in the dull light of the tiny room, supplied only by the diffused fluorescent from the hallway creeping in under the door from the hallway, Jim's skin glowed golden. 

In short, he was irresistible, and Spock found himself leaning in to steal another kiss, one that grew even fiercer than previous incarnations. 

"How do you want me?" Jim asked breathlessly. "I could just--" Without moving too far away out of Spock's arms, he twisted slightly as if preparing to brace his palms against the wall.

"No," Spock interrupted, at the same time gathering Jim's wrists in one hand to keep him from turning entirely. He wished to see the reactions on Jim's expressive face during the act.

Jim gave him a knowing grin. "Okay, but you better pick soon, because otherwise --" He gasped lightly as Spock curled his hand tighter around Jim's erection through his jeans. "Wow, that's not actually helping -- I mean, depending on what you mean by helping because unnhh --" His exhalation shook with his excitement. 

"This will suffice," Spock told him. He deftly undid the buttons along the fly of Jim's jeans and quickly pushed them off, along with the soft pair of grey boxer briefs Jim wore. 

When he looked down, his lips parted at the sight of Jim's hard cock slapping against his belly. For a moment Spock contemplated folding to his knees as if in supplication to that gorgeously stiff member; Jim's already heaving chest and quivering body only increased his desire. Spock could slide his lips down that straining erection and listen to Jim's pleadings and soft desperate noises as Spock took him closer to the edge. 

But Jim was already close, he had said. And though engaging in coitus with Jim, limp with pleasure already attained, had its appeals, so did the idea of penetrating him over and over while Jim himself felt the onset of orgasm, squeezing around Spock through the tremors.

"Suffice," Jim repeated with a soft laugh. He leaned against Spock, his forehead resting companionably on Spock's shoulder, as he kicked off the items. "You sure you don't want me to turn around? Probably easiest --"

"What is easiest is not my current concern, Jim," Spock interrupted him. He advanced so Jim's back pressed up against the wall. With one hand Spock undid the fastenings of his own trousers while with the other he threaded his fingers in Jim's hair, jerking his head back slightly, so that he could mouth at Jim's Adam's apple. 

Before allowing the fabric to begin sliding down his legs, Spock used his free hand to retrieve a condom and a slim packet of lubrication from his pockets, along with a clean handkerchief, and placed the items atop a nearby box. Then, without any loss in balance, he disengaged one leg from his trousers, not bothering to move the garment entirely off his body. Haste in advancing the proceedings began to take precedence above all else, fueled by the feel of Jim's warm skin and Jim's soft hitching little breaths as Spock handled him. 

"Fuck, you look so good. On the floor?" Jim got out in between kisses. He glanced down at the dusty surface, wrinkling his nose slightly. His gaze returned at once to Spock's body, and his tongue wet his kiss-swollen lips. 

"No," Spock said simply. He carefully lifted Jim so his legs were free to wrap around Spock's torso.

"Oh my god," Jim laughed. Despite his surprise, he easily flung his arms around Spock's shoulders and hung on. "You're really fucking strong." He wriggled experimentally and grinned when Spock easily balanced him. 

"Vulcan strength is three times that of a human's," Spock informed him as he slid one arm beneath Jim's knee to support it. 

"And just when I thought nothing about this could get any hotter. Let's hear it for Vulcan strength." Jim yanked Spock closer so they could kiss again.

Spock reached to obtain the packet of lubricant he had earlier set down. One-handed, he tore it open and slicked his fingers.

"Agile," Jim gasped out as he felt the first finger penetrate him with ease. "Oh fuck, _seriously_ agile," he muttered to himself as Spock continued to support Jim's weight at the same time that he stroked inside of him. He shifted against the wall, adjusting himself, and with a beguiling little grunt began to twist down against Spock. 

Though Spock generally judged this stage one of requirement rather than pleasure, Jim's gratifyingly agitated experience of it provided new evidence to challenge that assessment. Jim licked his lips, squirmed, made soft surprised sounds, and threw back his head, his mouth slightly agape with pleasure when Spock's fingers (two now) thrust inside of him. 

Spock took care to crook his fingers just so, experiment with speed and depth, nearly becoming so absorbed in the process that he did not advance further, keen on seeing Jim's pleasure entirely played out. Until at last Jim halted working his hips, let out a strangled sound and choked out, "Spock, can you just fucking get inside of me already?"

Spock told himself a verbal answer was illogical when all his energies ought to focus on the act they both so intensely desired. He ignored the light trembling in his fingers as he briefly wiped them on his kerchief laid out upon the nearby box. He extended his hand to grasp the condom before using his teeth to open its wrapping.

Perhaps it had been Spock's many months aboard the Farragut. Perhaps it was the anticipation of the challenges the upcoming term would present. Perhaps it was just the hurry with which Spock had left his apartment to travel to this venue. Whatever the cause, Spock registered with surprise he felt more compromised than he would have anticipated at this stage of erotic engagement, very nearly overcome with what he had heard described as "sensory overload." Everything was Jim, and Jim everything. 

All Spock could do was jerk a nod as he once again shifted Jim in his hold. He wordlessly encouraged Jim to tighten his legs around Spock's waist so Spock could temporarily use both hands to grasp his erection and roll the condom on. 

"Uh -- you don't have to --" Jim said softly, clutching Spock's shoulders. His legs twitched, gripping harder around Spock.

Spock stopped. The words had been so quiet, almost as if uttered involuntarily, the unconscious expression of a fevered wish. Indeed, Jim looked disconcerted, though whether at his own words or at Spock's pause it was unclear. 

"I mean, I usually do," Jim rushed to assure Spock. He moved fitfully, starting to pant. "It's just -- I don't know -- right now I just want to feel you as close as possible --"

Spock breathed in and out as slowly as he could manage in his current state of arousal. The idea of feeling Jim, soft willing flesh accepting Spock with nothing to hinder the sensations between them, tempted him very much indeed. With no barrier Jim's sounds would indubitably increase in volume and desperation; perhaps the attractive flush on his body would deepen further in acknowledgment of the illicit tenor the act had gained; and the manner in which Jim gave himself utterly over to sensuous enjoyment would no doubt be amplified by that immediate contact. 

Suddenly there came to Spock's mind a wholly unanticipated sensation, a raw need. The mere notion of leaving his seed inside this responsive partner made something stir in him. Unbidden, the words of a pre-Reformation poem came to his mind, one that spoke of savagery in acts of love. In this moment he understood the verses, those fierce impulses and possessive declarations, more fully than he had ever done before.

Spock could feel the affirmative answer about to form on his tongue. But -- 

He forced himself to regain control. He was in control.

"It is not advisable," he said finally. 

Jim was a stranger; Spock was unknown to him. Such practices were not only unhealthy in the moment but should not become habitual. Spock could not contribute to such ill-advised actions even if he knew himself to be without transmissible sexual diseases, even if he felt the inclination to trust this particular partner should he make such a claim for himself. 

"Yeah, I get that," Jim said. He glanced down and his shoulders slumped, the very posture of dejection for a moment. Quickly, however, he rallied with a sly grin and a slow twist of his snug body against Spock's fingers. "Well? Come on. Are you going to give it to me or what?"

Spock gazed at Jim's startling blue eyes as the vulnerability in them appeared to dissipate entirely, effaced by this teasing invitation. 

"You seem quite cavalier for a man about to learn what it is like to have sex with a partner possessing three times his strength, Jim," he remarked so as to join in the spirit of the moment. He wasted no further time but sheathed himself in the condom.

"Oh, I'll give you cavali -- oh my _fucking god_ ," Jim began to speak but mouthed the remainder of his words as Spock began the slow first slide in. 

"You must inform me when you are comfortable with continuing," Spock gritted out. Though it was no chore to hold Jim in place, his arms shook slightly at the sensation of Jim gripping and opening for him simultaneously, soft velvet and tight muscle. The little gasp Jim let out at Spock's small adjustment of his posture sent a rush of sensation along his nerves.

"Now is good," Jim said impatiently. "Come on, Spock, I can take it." He tilted his hips up to indicate he wished to speed the rhythm.

"Very well." Spock began to thrust, accustoming himself to the angle and rate of rapidity that seemed best to suit this scenario and his partner. Obviously he had gone without sexual encounters for some time, but the crest of the thrust inward seemed to Spock like reaching the point in his meditations during which his mind was wiped of all distractions. That he attained this sensation with someone almost entirely unknown to him seemed highly unusual.

"Oh," Jim murmured, closing his eyes for a moment and then blinking hazily at Spock. "Oh, that's so good." He bit his lower lip as he rolled his hips in synchronization with Spock's thrusts. With a huff, he gripped Spock's frame harder with his arms and legs to achieve greater ballast in his movements. 

For his part, Spock was most agreeable to Jim using his body in whatever way would bring the two of them the most enjoyment. Though Jim appeared athletic and capable enough of getting some amount of friction against Spock's abdomen just by rubbing against Spock's body, Spock leaned back enough to grip Jim's cock and aid in his pleasure.

"Damn, wait, I don't want to come yet, but -- okay, that's a thing we're doing, then," Jim said, his eyes widening when Spock obligingly tugged down on his scrotal sac in order to inhibit his oncoming orgasm. Jim grinned slightly a second later, though, and a small smile remained even as Spock resumed the motion of his hips. The quirk of it curved Jim's attractive lips in surprisingly compelling fashion as he dug his heels into the small of Spock's back and clutched Spock's shoulders to move harder in counterpoint. 

For a few moments, as Spock found himself strangely captivated by that unconscious smile, the motion between them took on what Spock understood to constitute a dreamlike quality. Jim sighed as he curled forward, a second later hiding his face against Spock's neck. His limbs, wrapped around Spock, felt less a means of securing himself and more an emotionally driven embrace. Spock gentled his pace and strength accordingly, finding himself taken in by the intimate interlude. He could feel Jim's lips moving against his own skin, though whether in clumsy and distracted attempts at kisses or some furtive forming of words he could not say. 

After a short time, though, the ephemeral languor dissolved, and urgency returned. When Jim used his balance against the wall to reposition himself, and deliberately tightened around Spock, their slower tempo fell to the wayside. The drive to thrust inside his partner harder, propelling them both toward the inevitable climax, compelled Spock beyond even his customarily estimable control.

"Yeah, show me," Jim panted, grinding against Spock in a tight circle, increasing the enthralling grip of his body. Spock could have asked him to clarify his meaning, but his own mind readily supplied all the alluring possibilities -- show Jim how much he wanted him, show him how hard he could penetrate him, show him the heights to which he was capable of taking them both. 

He leaned back just enough to glance down at his erection sliding in and out of Jim, at the way Jim's thighs quivered while they braced against Spock's hips, at Jim's stiff cock jouncing against his abdomen as he was jerked up and down. That sight of himself penetrating his partner sent a thrill through Spock's very being. 

This time when Spock began to curl his fingers around Jim's hard on, he did not perform any accompanying action that would inhibit or delay Jim's pleasure. Instead, he watched Jim's face carefully, the sizable degree of dilation of his eyes, the tempting purse of his lips, the exquisite tension in his features as he approached the final climax, in order to caress and pull him to the most gratifying ending.

"Yeah, oh," Jim whispered, his voice strained. One of his hands pried itself away from Spock's upper arm in order to join Spock's hand on his erection. "God, Spock, you're so good, you're amaz --oh _fuck_ ," he blurted as his cock pulsed in orgasm, the small bursts of milky liquid spilling over their joined hands. 

Though he held Jim and slowed the pace briefly through Jim's series of shivers, the trembling of his body facilitating a sequence of spasms gripping Spock's own erection, Spock saw no reason to delay his own release. He soon returned to a more desperate pace, his hips juddering forward, his mind rushing to an ever accelerating apex of excitement, his body at last tensed through every muscle -- until he reached that moment of transcendent stillness before the ensuing overwhelming orgasm. 

For some passage of time, a period which Spock did not care to demarcate specifically, Jim clung to him, and Spock embraced his partner gladly.

After a time, however, Jim made a soft noise of discomfort. No wonder; he still had his legs bent back, and his body compressed from the positioning of their intimacy. Certainly it would be wise for Spock to help Jim regain his footing, and carefully, he did so. 

What seemed less logical: why Spock would, after setting aside the tied condom, smooth his hands up and down Jim's torso as though to calm him, why he might brush kisses at random over Jim's body, why indeed he would choose to kneel in front of him, and begin to massage Jim's thighs and calves with a light soft touch, helping to restore the blood flow to those limbs and encourage the relaxation of those tight muscles. 

Spock often appreciated the period of closeness after the conclusion of a sexual act with a partner. Yet he typically reined in such impulses for affectionate expression when the encounter was meant to last only a brief time. Such gestures, he found, confused humans, either misleading them to adopt an uneasy assumption that Spock desired greater emotional attachment, or by persuading the more emotionally needy among them that Spock wished for some continued connection beyond their agreed-upon assignation. 

Even so, he felt disinclined to dispute the reasoning behind his odd tendency to indulge this, to allow his fingers to knead at a kink in Jim's lower left leg, or to follow the impulse to slide his palms up Jim's well-formed thighs to cup at the curve of his buttocks. And above him, Jim murmured something incomprehensible as he stroked through the strands of Spock's hair slowly, petting his neck and shoulders as Spock leaned his face against Jim's abdomen. 

It was rare that Spock found himself in the situation of questioning his own motives and actions. This scenario, however, certainly provided him cause for such self-examination. Disconcerted, though he made certain not to demonstrate his disquiet, he rose to stand before Jim.

Obviously the sensible gesture would be to step away from his partner. And yet when Jim, slumped against the wall, tugged Spock closer, Spock went readily. Indeed, he obeyed with such alacrity it was as though regaining bodily closeness had been his intention all along. He breathed in and out deeply, barely cognizant of the way he relished their combined scents. 

"Fuck, I want you to do everything to me." Jim gave a little hum of pleasure as he draped himself, as boneless as a willful Terran housecat, in Spock's arms. He huffed out a laugh before he drew Spock's head closer for a lingering kiss. "Like, I don't know how that could have been any more incredible, but I bet we can come up with some close seconds, you know? Try a bed next time, maybe. Let me show you what I can do with my mouth. Or, I don't know, whatever you want. Pretty sure I'd be up for most of what you want to take out for a spin." He nipped at Spock's ear lobe playfully and breathed out, sounding content. 

Spock drew back slightly, and Jim stilled. When Jim made no verbal objection, Spock continued to pull away. 

The silence between them took on a tense quality, chasing away the trancelike contentment of only moments before. As if loathe to relinquish the mood they had so recently shared, Jim let his hands slide down Spock's biceps as they started to separate, lingering there for a moment before he dropped his hold. 

Spock lifted his chin slightly and regarded Jim with a level gaze. Though he could not determine from where the source of his reluctance arose, it was with no little effort that he took a step back from his partner for the night. 

Jim watched him, and swallowed once, his throat working nervously. His expression had shifted from the open sensual pleasure of a few seconds before to something wary.

"It is doubtful that we will have time enough for such pursuits in the course of this evening," Spock began. Though humans experienced varying refractory periods, he typically did not wait for his partner to regain his full arousal before taking his leave. His uncharacteristic vacillation suggested to Spock it would be prudent to follow his customary practices rather than make an exception. "Additionally, this facility does not offer anything in the way of rooms in which to rest. So your suggestion of a bed is unfortunately impossible." 

In the awkward silence following his declaration, Spock sensed he had misspoken. Of course, it was not unusual for him to suspect he had said something unwelcome when conversing with Earthers. And certainly he wished to emphasize this encounter would abide by the implicit terms already set out, last only the space of a single evening. Yet he found himself on the verge of castigating himself, judging his treatment of the situation as overly thoughtless.

Hiding his unease, he efficiently gathered his clothing, fastening and buttoning the various items until he was nearly presentable to depart the club. 

Still standing in a slight slump against the wall, with an alluring flush over his naked flesh that urged Spock to embrace him again, Jim nodded to himself several times. Then he blinked at Spock, his blue eyes guarded, before he cast his gaze down. "No, right. 'Course not. One time thing, and all that." When he looked up again, he grinned, much more in line with the casual response Spock anticipated and desired. But though they had spent little time together, Spock could detect some degree of strain in Jim's expression. 

When Jim spotted a roll of hand blotting paper atop a nearby shelving unit, he pulled off a swath. He kept his eyes fixed on his body, grimacing as he used the rough paper to wipe away droplets of his semen. 

Spock looked away to give him some semblance of privacy for the awkward act and to subjugate his strange notion of moving toward Jim to assist. He busied himself with the minutiae of gathering the handkerchief and the other items that belonged to him. It seemed the best approach to push from his mind the image of stroking Jim's body clean of their spendings with a far softer cloth, of taking Jim by the hand to lead him to a bed somewhere far from the crowds of the club.

When he judged he could turn back again, Jim had finished with his cursory scrubbing. In his hands he already held his crumpled up t-shirt, retrieved from the floor, and when Spock once again faced him, Jim smiled tightly and gave the garment a quick shake before pulling it on. 

"Hey, did you see where my boxer briefs ended up?" Jim asked. 

Though he registered the invitation to aid in Jim's search, instead Spock watched the t-shirt skim the curve of Jim's buttocks. He forcibly averted his eyes, instead looking for the garment in question. 

"Briefs?" Jim asked again a full minute later. 

"Upon examination, they are not in evidence," Spock brought himself to answer after he had more obviously given a superficial inspection of the surrounding area.

"Well, hell. It's not like it's the first time I've gone commando or anything." Jim shrugged, not meeting Spock's eyes as he commenced pulling his jeans over his bare legs. 

The best use of Spock's time while waiting for his partner to attire himself would be to consider the obligations awaiting him back at his apartment. Upon his return to the Starfleet campus, there were communications to answer, most probably meetings already scheduled to make note of, and a personal list of tasks to determine. All the same, Spock could not resist focusing his attentions on the current moment, gazing as the fabric slid over Jim's well-toned thighs and buttons fastened over the sparse trail of golden hair traveling from Jim's groin to his navel. 

When Jim saw him watching, he ducked his head, half-smiling. A beat later, though, he seemed to remember they had already entered the post-coital phase during which leave must be taken. Immediately he became more brisk in his movements, and frowned slightly as he patted his pockets as if to ascertain that nothing had fallen out. 

Spock restrained himself from clearing his throat and instead smoothed his own garments again needlessly. 

With most of his fleeting encounters, Spock often ended the event by simply thanking his partner and bidding them goodbye. A great many of his partners appeared sanguine, even relieved, to have a clear closure to their physical activities. Most often they thanked him in turn before each of them departed to their individual pursuits. 

Yet tonight, Spock registered a reluctance to end this interaction with his customary expression of gratitude. As he internally searched for appropriate words, Jim took it upon himself to acknowledge their ensuing departure.

"Well, hey. That was..." Jim trailed off, tugging his t-shirt to straighten it before lifting his hand to rub quickly over the back of his neck. "I guess it was obvious I thought that was pretty awesome," he ended finally, grinning as if amused at his assessment. But he appeared distracted, looking over Spock's shoulder rather than meeting Spock's gaze as he had done so readily before. "So. Thanks. See you around sometime?"

Spock nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing in reply. It would not be wise to make even the most nebulous of commitments. Abiding by the guidelines he himself had set for his conduct in such situations, he should not needlessly indicate he might engage with the same partner should they happen to meet again.

"Right," Jim said to himself. He disengaged the rudimentary lock on the inside of the door and prepared to open it. But as Spock waited for him to continue, Jim turned back to him, a mix of determination and hesitancy playing on his features as he came close to brush one last kiss across Spock's mouth. 

Spock stood still, allowing the contact but doing nothing to prolong it.

With no further words, Jim quietly let himself out of the room, not looking back or waiting for Spock to follow.

The dull thump of music that had been reduced to a background drone during their activities became louder when Jim opened the door. Upon his departure and the reengagement of the lock, the noise again dampened. 

The evening's events he had planned for were at a close. Spock had fulfilled his objective to obtain erotic engagement for the evening, and the results had been most satisfactory.

Spock fully intended to proceed from the room as soon as possible. Yet he paused. Alone, he gazed at the closed door, his fingers pointlessly brushing against his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Four days later, on the second day of Starfleet's fall orientation, Spock had become immersed in meetings related to his duties as a Starfleet instructor. 

During their conferences his colleagues found it edifying to complain to one another about the shift from their holiday schedules to the demands of the academic year. One wistfully expressed her wish to return to the summer home she had so recently vacated; another joked he would "play hooky" from his courses in order to travel to a newly-discovered Class-M planet much discussed amongst the staff.

The general proclivity of his coworkers to grumble did not suit Spock for multiple reasons, primary among them because he appreciated the myriad required tasks the beginning of term brought. During the past few days, his native aptitude for intense concentration seemed to some degree compromised. He could not account for why this was, but absorbing himself in his preparations for the school year eased his apprehension about the issue somewhat. 

The morning had nearly concluded when he strode across campus intending to take advantage of a twenty-minute interval between his obligations. Though he walked along the path in a direct line, he was compelled multiple times to step around the new cadets who were wandering about absently, looking at their communicators during their perambulations, or stopping suddenly in their motions to greet one another with the nervous friendliness of those who had only recently met. 

By habit, Spock disregarded the idle conversations and chatter around him and continued on his way. Yet as he passed briefly in the shade of a large statue of Zefram Cochrane, he stopped abruptly upon hearing an unexpected but familiar voice.

"So I'll see you at lunch, probably."

"Seriously, kid, you're off to the library again?" 

"What, like we're not here to learn stuff?" Jim's voice objected, for his was the one Spock had readily recognized. 

The other speaker made a tsk-ing sound. "There's another welcoming lecture in a couple of minutes. Maybe that's not your style, but there are bound to be lots of pretty girls and good-looking guys there. Besides, they'll have coffee and some sugary nonsense afterward, so it's a prime time for you to meet more people."

"I don't need some dean droning on about the registration system or course requirements when it's all pretty straightforward. And I've got weeks to meet people. Might as well get some time in the stacks instead; you know, work out how I'm going to accelerate my stint at Starfleet."

The behavior Spock displayed in response to overhearing this discussion was most aberrant. Rather than avoiding the two conversants, as he normally would to circumvent the social error of eavesdropping, he clutched the edge of the statue's platform with his left hand, aiming to steady the quaking in his limbs so he might keep out of sight and continue to listen. 

Apparently despite Spock's care in choosing a locale well away from the campus to meet prospective sexual partners just days prior, his efforts had proved futile. For obviously his companion of the other night was now a member of the entering class of Starfleet Academy, one of the cohort Spock would potentially teach this term. 

Spock did his best to quell his unease. Having interactions of an erotic nature with cadets, or indeed fellow instructors and senior officers, was not forbidden outright. Certainly it was discouraged to pursue such engagements carelessly, and the appropriate superior parties were to be informed in the case of relationships intended to last any great length of time. But he had committed no breach of protocol. 

The primary obstacle in this case was Spock's preference to avoid potentially complicated emotional entanglements with others at Starfleet. Yet Spock had made quite clear the finality of their arrangement to Jim at the end of their meeting. Even if Jim experienced some awkwardness in encountering Spock once more, and in their official roles as instructor and student no less, surely they might exchange civil greetings and move along. They would gradually become accustomed to the idea of occasionally meeting one another in passing. Spock had numerous times come upon past paramours without any great challenge to his own equilibrium. Even if his human emotions created discomfort initially Jim would surely become used to the situation; he would have to. 

Nonetheless, an uncharacteristic wave of agitation pressed at Spock upon hearing Jim's voice. As he shifted in position to get a better view and caught a glimpse of those blue eyes, he experienced an unwise urge to step forward and make himself known, to reestablish his acquaintance with Jim with the intention to continue their association in some fashion.

Someone nearby scoffed. For an excruciating moment, Spock wondered if his conflicting impulses were laid bare, and he was found wanting, judged as un-Vulcan for his unquiet, disorganized mind. 

But as Spock carefully rounded the statue while still keeping out of sight, he viewed another cadet glaring at Jim. This unknown man, obviously the other speaker in the conversation, had arms stubbornly crossed and his face drawn up in a scowl. The disparaging sound had been for Jim, then, not some pronouncement of distaste of Spock's emotionally compromised desires.

When the man facing Jim spoke again, his voice was infused with irritability; he nevertheless seemed slightly worried, even affectionate toward Jim. "Funny thing, but the way you were talking when we met on that damn shuttle, I figured you'd be out all the time chasing tail. And yet here you are every night in bed like a good boy long before I ever get back to the dorm. And by day you're turning into a hard-working nerd even before the official start of classes. Not that I mind seeing someone apply themselves, because you know I respect a good work ethic. But what's with the turnaround?"

At the angle Spock now stood, he could view Jim's tousled blond hair, not as carefully styled as it had been at the club the other night. In his distraction, Spock made a note that both modes of appearance were equally appealing. 

"Okay, Bones, you've got me," Jim allowed. He let out a short laugh, though it was clear he was uncomfortable. "I don't know. I just haven't felt like being social the past couple of days. Guess I've been hit with the study bug because, you know, here we are, right? This is serious stuff, getting to train at Starfleet."

"I guess so," the other man -- who apparently had the unusual surname of Bones -- replied suspiciously. "Still, even if you're reforming your hound dog ways, you're not supposed to bury yourself under a pile of PADDs just yet. Go out and meet some more folks, mingle a little, okay? It's good for a man to make friends."

"Sure, you're absolutely right." Though Spock could not fully view Jim's expression, he heard a note of false cheer in his voice, indicating he had calculated his seeming agreement with Bones to deflect his companion's scrutiny. 

"Okay, fine." A put upon exhalation escaped Bones, as if he judged dealing with Jim a burden. Still, he grasped Jim's shoulder for longer than Terran customs of tactile friendliness appeared to dictate. 

Spock found himself staring at those blunt fingers curled around Jim's upper arm. He clenched both his fists and gritted his teeth to maintain control.

"But you better show at lunch, okay?" Bones continued. "And I am dragging you out to a bar tonight, no matter what you say. Even if you don't feel like meeting anyone new, I want to see you have a little fun. If that means I've got to have to have a few too many drinks along with you, so be it."

"Ha, twist your arm, right? Okay." This time the corners of Jim's eyes crinkled at Bones making the pledge seem more sincere. 

For whatever reason, Jim's fond expression increased the sense of distress Spock experienced. He gripped the corner of the statue but let it go a moment later when he could feel a portion of it might actually crumble in his clutch. 

Jim applied physical pressure to Bones's shoulders to displace him from the spot where he stood -- what Spock had been informed constituted a "friendly shove." "Go, learn dumb registration stuff at the lecture, and meet a ton of cute cadets for the both of us." 

"Lunch," Bones called out as he began to back away, an accusatory finger pointed at Jim.

"I'll be there!"

Bones made a disgruntled sound, waving Jim off irritably as he stalked toward one of the lecture halls. 

For a time, Jim stood looking after his friend. Then he gazed upward, shielding his eyes from the bright sun as he searched the skies. 

Spock ruthlessly squashed his preoccupied observation that Jim looked most pleasing in his cadet reds; it was of no consequence how attractive Jim appeared in the official uniform of the members of the student body at Starfleet. 

When Jim finally walked off in the direction of the main library, Spock refused to accede to another urge: this time, an illogical sense that he should join Jim, offer to accompany him wherever he would like to go, and establish plans that would ensure they would meet again later. 

Despite Jim's general desirability, such an inclination should only be discouraged. Spock had little time presently for anything unrelated to his instructorship. Resolved, he resumed his previously determined route.

Yet twenty seconds later, Spock detoured to a computer bank in a nearby building. Using the database available only to faculty with restricted access, he quickly searched for variants on the names "Jim" and "James" to determine the surname of his cadet. 

After locating seventeen possible matches in the entering class, he happened to see his wrist chronometer and realized he was nearly out of time before his next appointment. Indeed, there were only two minutes remaining to him, a quite unusual occurrence given his typically superior internal determination of time. 

With a vague sense of heat creeping up the back of his neck, Spock used what little time was left to search the surname "Bones". But to his consternation, he did not find any matches. He frowned at the screen, considering the possibility the word perhaps instead indicated a nickname. 

Finally, Spock hurried to make his planned appointment. He would simply research the matter further when he had more time at his disposal. The vision of that "Bones" with his hand on Jim's shoulder, the affinity between the two men though they could have known one another only several days -- it was only logical to determine what sort of relationship existed between the two. In doing so, Spock would act as any conscientious instructor might when faced with a new cadet who allowed nonessential social relationships to hinder his ability to concentrate on his studies.

****************

Later that day, once his attention to various tasks had brought him a greater measure of calm, Spock reflected that despite his earlier assurance, perhaps he was not acting rationally in determining that he should research Jim and his peer, "Bones". He resolved to think no more of the matter unless absolutely necessary. He would no doubt see Jim on occasion and the both of them would gradually inure themselves to the occurrence.

Yet that night, back at his faculty apartment, Spock gained access to the database again. He once more brought up the seventeen names and proceeded to enter another security code, one that would grant him greater access to include the photographic identifications of the cadets in the incoming class. 

Almost immediately he recognized the matching image. 

"James Tiberius Kirk," Spock read aloud. The photograph in question would have been taken soon after the first-years' initial arrival on the Starfleet campus. In his picture, Jim grinned for the computer imaging system, looking rather boyishly mischievous, somewhat boorishly arrogant, and yet altogether captivating. He bore the traces of bruises on his face, and Spock found himself frowning at the screen as he began to calculate the reasons why Jim might have acquired such contusions directly prior to beginning his time at Starfleet. For two seconds, he allowed the tip of his finger to follow the shadow of one discoloration under Jim's right eye, noting absently that the bright sky-blue of his irises stood out even more in contrast. 

Almost mindlessly he took in related information concerning Jim's record -- the impressively high test scores, the innate talent displayed throughout his academic career, the observations from instructors that he bored easily when without purpose, his penchant for troublemaking that escalated as he entered his teen years, and the surprisingly unimpressive career history after attaining his secondary school diploma but before committing to Starfleet. He read through each item, all the while he admired the shape of Jim's jaw and the lines of his cheekbones.

When Spock acknowledged he had begun to ponder about how Jim's personal life in Iowa might account for some of his record's incongruities, he drew himself up sharply. He had obtained the basic information he sought. To touch the screen and to speculate scenarios about Jim's civilian existence had no purpose. More to the point, any further pursuit of data about "Jim" Kirk made little sense. Spock would most likely have no professional relationship with a cadet on the command track. The chance that Cadet Kirk would enroll in Spock's class specifically was low, given that his name did not already appear on the roster, and a long waiting list already existed. 

Even so, after two minutes had passed, Spock had not only looked up Jim's schedule but committed it to memory. Somewhat appalled at his own intrusiveness, for there was no sensible reason he would need such knowledge, he began to close the program.

Then he hesitated, recalling his secondary intention when he had first begun to peruse the database. After all, he had already finished his related search; it would take but a matter of moments to complete the other investigation. 

A few lines of code allowed him to gain an even higher level of security. He started a rapid search of keywords that allowed him to browse through photographs of the entire cadet cohort, including and eliminating certain tags in turn to designate characteristics of appearance.

Before long, Spock located the image and the attached records of one Doctor Leonard McCoy, a licensed physician enrolled at Starfleet for officer training and three years of graduate-level Xenobiology coursework. When Spock delved further, he grasped Doctor McCoy and Cadet Kirk in fact shared a dormitory room. They were not initially assigned together, but were granted leave to change their designated roommates. Apparently their wish to room together had overridden the more fitting logic of accepting the housing that the registrar's office determined appropriate. 

Spock stared at the image of McCoy, who had not smiled while his identification was recorded but narrowed his eyes as though communicating his skepticism about the very process. Spock examined the available information to find McCoy's schedule, learn his assigned graduate advisor, and determine his marital and personal background (recently divorced, one female child, full custody granted to spouse pending appeals). When he opened a personal document and copied all of the most likely relevant information regarding McCoy to it, however, Spock gained awareness that his behavior had begun to verge on the ethically questionable.

Abruptly, he shut the program and deleted all information regarding McCoy. There was no reason to suspect any untoward behavior, even if McCoy's newly unmarried status and keen interest for Jim to "have fun" and "a few too many drinks" did indicate some cause for continued vigilance. Yet Spock would find no reason to object to a similar proximity and friendliness between two other randomly selected cadets, unless their interactions interfered with their scholarship. He was acting most irrationally, without basis of firm evidence. 

Rather than merely registering disappointment at his reactions -- a state of mind to which Spock long ago had resigned himself for periodic departures from the Vulcan way -- Spock felt genuine befuddlement at his conduct. Was he really so compromised by one sexual encounter and the unexpected but relatively minor complication of Jim -- Cadet Kirk -- being enrolled at Starfleet? Was any of this excuse enough to explain his distraction and inappropriate behavior, pursuing details regarding Doctor McCoy and speculating on his dynamic with Jim? 

He briefly raised his forefingers to his temples, pressing as he closed his eyes and attempted to regulate his breathing to a steady rapidity. It would be best if he spent the remainder of the evening in meditation. He would at once light the incense he used to facilitate his period of contemplation and take his place upon the mat in his living area.

When he rose from his desk chair, Spock instead crossed to the bedroom and opened the top drawer of his bureau. There remained -- exactly where he had laid them in a small container several nights before -- the pair of soft grey boxer briefs Jim had worn the night they first met. 

To take that article of attire with him, even after Spock understood Jim wished to locate and re-clothe himself with it, was the height of perversely sentimental illogic. Yet Spock had automatically gathered the item among his other possessions as he prepared to depart, somehow deciding contrary to all evidence that they actually belonged to him.

To keep them now, when he intended no further contact with Jim beyond what might pass between casually encountering instructors and cadets, made absolutely no sense. 

What was irrational beyond what Spock could estimate: to hold the briefs in his hand momentarily, stroking his thumb over the soft fabric, when Spock knew that he required meditation to settle his thoughts and prepare himself for the tasks of the day and week ahead of him. His head feeling fogged and heavy, Spock forced himself to relinquish the briefs and continue with the remainder of his evening plans.

****************

In the remainder of the week following, Spock did not permit himself to reflect overmuch upon the whereabouts or doings of Cadet Kirk. Rather, he organized his syllabi, met with his superiors as required, and completed his preparations for the term, which was due to begin in one more day.

Scheduled for that very night was a social gathering, intended to mark the end of orientation, and to bring together the incoming class of cadets with the instructors who would guide them. Upon perusing the related memorandum on his computer, Spock determined that though encouraged, his attendance at the event was not mandatory. As he considered himself distracted and behind in his duties due to his momentary lapse of attention upon encountering Kirk briefly days before, Spock decided he would not join in the festivities.

That is, he resolved he would not attend the event until he received a communication from Captain Christopher Pike. His superior had forwarded a reminder of the time and location of the party, with the addition of "Hope to see you there, Lieutenant Commander!" 

Pike's message about the gathering, casual though it seemed, gave Spock pause. He had previously encountered Starfleet Officers proffering similarly friendly suggestions about social occasions. Yet if Spock logically responded by treating their recommendations as optional, his superiors would later seem disgruntled. Apparently humans in positions of power often disliked stating outright when their expectations were firm, wishing to convey camaraderie rather than requirement. The practice seemed to Spock most inefficient, but unfortunately unavoidable. 

Spock stood from his desk and glanced about the room. All was in order, as it customarily was. There was nothing specific to keep him behind, no obligations or vital matters to take priority over the event. It did not escape Spock's notice, however, that essentially he did not wish to go. 

His reluctance was, of course, illogical. There was no appropriate reason to keep himself back from the company of others. His colleagues appeared to hold him in good esteem. He experienced nothing but respectful interactions with the few cadets he had met during the orientation. No doubt he would find familiar faces in the crowd, would exchange pleasantries quickly, and would soon locate and greet Captain Pike to furnish evidence of his attendance. Then he would exit after the minimal appropriate amount of time had passed. 

Though temporarily delaying his previous plans, following such a course would still allow Spock the remainder of the evening to gather his thoughts and attain a calm state of mind. He would likely arrive back at his apartment in time to compose a recording for his mother to indulge her request that he "keep in touch". According to her last overly affectionate letter, he was to let her known of his doings "before you're buried under all that grading." 

Even with this organization of his evening in place, however, instead of returning directly to his apartment later Spock thought longingly of another possibility -- detouring to another location such as a bar or a dance club in order to relieve the erotic energies built up in him over the past few days. He might excise his undue and inappropriate fascination with Cadet Kirk to some extent should he avail himself of such an opportunity. 

Yes, perhaps later that night he would stop at the same venue at which he had met Jim, find another prospective partner so as to re-focus his mind --

All at once, the image of Jim arose unbidden: at the very same club, his artfully mussed hair and bright blue eyes drawing admiration, quickly encountering another patron besides Spock. Would he retreat with that person to a shadowy corner of the bar or dance floor? Would he actually bring his partner to the closet Spock had at some point begun to think of as _theirs_? The pain of that notion flashed through Spock's mind so violently that he felt the searing jab of a headache begin on the left side of his skull. For a few moments he pressed two fingers to his temple to ease the pain. 

Spock half-turned to the computer. He would make his way to the gathering soon, obviously, but there was time enough to check the logs of identification card entry points for a variety of buildings. In so doing, he might easily track Jim Kirk's activities in entering and exiting the dorms and libraries. By cross-referencing such information, no doubt Spock could estimate the likelihood of whether Jim had left the campus at any point during the orientation with the presumed goal of pursuing erotic fulfillment.

Indeed, Spock reflected as he felt his neck grow hot with a rush of blood, Jim might have been untruthful with his roommate, Doctor McCoy, about his whereabouts. Perhaps Jim focused on enjoying himself through repeated sexual release with a variety of partners, only pretending to spend time at the library during the past week. After all, McCoy himself dubbed Jim's contention that he would rather study than meet cadets unlikely, given Jim's declared predilection for "chasing tail". 

And yet -- Spock was suddenly struck with that image of Jim shading his eyes, standing in the sunlight in his cadet reds, gazing up at the sky. The picture had been one of distraction and melancholy, not lustful abandon and smug deception. Spock had detected no indication of untruths being communicated in the course of the conversation he overheard, other than Jim's initial false cheer promising McCoy he would meet him for a meal. And indeed, if Jim had been candid before arriving on campus about his tendency to meet a range of prospective sexual partners, why would he later misrepresent himself to McCoy? 

A simple scan of the logs would indicate the truth of the situation. But a sense of disgust now pervaded Spock for even contemplating such a measure. Did he not, as all Vulcans did, view the expenditure of sexual energies with multiple partners prior to bonding as sensible? Why would he attempt to determine the exact rate of Jim's encounters with other partners, or consider it appropriate to view official records and data to investigate the sexual and leisure activities of any member of Starfleet so invasively? 

The compulsion to gain information dishonorably that was by rights none of his concern gradually faded. Spock retained only a sick sensation in his abdomen from his passingly fervid instincts. The nauseated feeling lingered, making him reflect perhaps he ought to visit the official infirmary the following day to inquire about possible medical causes. 

That inclination to seek the expertise of a health professional gave him pause, however, when Spock remembered that someone like Doctor McCoy, as an already licensed physician, might by now be assigned to some duties at Starfleet Medical. Though the possibility that he would be known to McCoy already was exceptionally slight, Spock found he did not desire the encounter.

It was no matter, he told himself, slowing his breaths until he felt a measure of peace filter through his system. Certainly humans could experience unusual inclinations during a period of extreme stress. Though Spock felt himself sufficiently ready for the semester to come, he was without question entering into a new phase of his career, and taking on a grave responsibility in undertaking the education of Starfleet's newest cadets. Perhaps it made sense for Spock, particularly given his half-human heritage, to experience proclivities at this time he would at other junctures deem worrisome. 

When the semester began, no doubt the routine would calm him. With that reassurance to himself, he at last departed to make his way to that night's event.


	4. Chapter 4

When Spock arrived at the campus function room dedicated to the end of orientation festivities for all cadets and Starfleet instructors, he scanned the open area. He caught sight of several cadets with whom he had already interacted. Aside from one who looked alarmed and went red in the face when he spotted Spock, all of the others nodded at him amiably, though not in such a way as to invite further interaction. 

As he gradually made his way through the crowd, Spock greeted a few other faculty members, many gathered around the table where catering staff dispensed beverages. At last he encountered one of the Xenolinguistics teachers who often appeared to enjoy speaking to him about the Vulcan disinclination for metaphorical speech. After a few polite inquiries as to the health of her spouse and some discussion of the language conference she had recently attended, Spock was preparing to move on when he sensed someone standing behind him.

"Mister Spock, you made it," Captain Pike said jovially. "Commander Punifra," he said, nodding to Spock's colleague. "Mind if I borrow the Lieutenant Commander for a bit?"

Without waiting for an answer, Pike turned on his heel, evidently expecting Spock to follow.

"How have the preparations for your courses gone so far, Mister Spock?" Pike asked as they made their way through the crowd.

"I am at this point adequately prepared for the term about to begin," Spock told him. He frowned as Pike kept moving, and tried to determine where their stopping point would be. Certainly it prevented an over-expenditure of time, having Captain Pike approach Spock. In that way, Spock would provide evidence of his attendance early on; presumably, he could leave all the sooner. But Spock had intended only to carry on a short conversation before leaving Pike to the other guests. He had no desire for an extended private exchange, which Pike increasingly seemed to indicate they would now conduct. 

Perhaps Pike intended to speak with all new instructors tonight, Spock reflected as they reached a more sparsely populated area of the hall. It seemed logical a Captain who prided himself on his personable nature, as Pike did, would take a few moments alone with each teacher who had yet to begin their classes at the Academy.

"'Adequately prepared' -- of course you are," Pike replied when he at last stopped, seeming sincere but also slightly amused. He turned to regard Spock, his gaze growing more somber. "How are you holding up?"

Spock's lips parted slightly. Surely Captain Pike had in no way detected Spock's recent struggles to focus as adeptly as he typically did. Most humans were not alert enough to recognize instances in which Vulcans faltered. Then again, Pike was unusually perceptive for a human being. Still, there was no way he could know what had transpired between Spock and Cadet Kirk, nor could he be privy to Spock's disquiet of late. 

"I mean, with everything that occurred on Cataclys," Pike continued. "I read the reports recently." 

"I see." Spock indulged in a second's pause to cover his confusion and relief. The Captain apparently meant only to inquire after Spock's well-being after the conclusion of the Farragut's last mission. Such concern was unnecessary, for though Spock had registered the tragedy of events related to that assignment, his stability had not been challenged by them. Pike's mention of them likely only reflected a polite though superfluous exchange about notable happenings to which humans were prone.

"My intellectual abilities remain largely unaffected," Spock offered when Pike seemed to await an additional answer. This assessment approached accuracy: when Spock was able to apply his mind, at least, his skills remained stable. 

Pike regarded him closely for a moment, his expression full of compassion. "Glad to hear it, Mister Spock."

Spock registered the internal impulse to make Pike aware that such kindness, though appreciated, was not necessary. He kept himself from speaking, however, hopeful that by not dwelling on the topic they might sooner move on to whatever else Pike wished to communicate. 

The stratagem appeared a success, for soon Pike spoke more briskly, demarcating the change in subject. "Now, about what I dragged you over here for. I'm sure you've got plenty to tackle during your first term teaching. But do you mind if I ask you to add something else to the load?" 

"Though I request more information before I acquiesce, as you already know of my commitments and are aware of the projects I can handle, I am inclined to say yes already."

"Good man," Pike advised him. "Or, good Vulcan," he corrected himself with a quick smile. Though he seemed the sort of man prone to brief physical gestures of approval and friendship, he politely refrained from touching Spock needlessly. "I understand you're already advising a few students."

"One particularly interested in xenocultural matters having to do with Vulcan, and three cadets who have declared a science specialty similar to my own," Spock prompted when Pike paused.

"Well, I'd like you to take on one more if you wouldn't mind. He's sort of a personal project of mine, but I don't have a great deal of extra time to keep tabs on him this term."

Spock frowned. "Keep tabs? Is this a cadet for whom some measure of surveillance is required? I would ask you provide any information regarding potential disciplinary cases as part of your briefing."

"See, that's just it," Pike said agreeably. "He's one of those cadets I would expect to get into a mix-up or two along the way, even though he's got a hell of a lot of promise." Strangely, Pike seemed rather charmed by the possibility the cadet in question could prove a troublemaker. "Ultimately I'm expecting to see him acquit himself admirably," he went on. "But so far he's turning out a little more...studious than I'd expected." 

"And this is a cause for concern?" Spock inquired, raising an eyebrow in question. "I consider the acquisition of good habits of scholarship an admirable trait rather than cause for apprehension. Are you certain the cadet in question requires particular monitoring?"

Pike laughed. "With him, it might go either way. And to tell you the truth, though I bet he'd argue he doesn't need special attention, in reality he'll welcome it all the same. Just let me know if advising a cadet like that works for you."

Though Spock could not foresee a serious need for his mentoring given the few details Pike supplied, it did not sound an onerous task. Indeed, he might find it edifying to work with a promising student who newly displayed such focus. "I welcome the chance to help."

"Excellent! So --"

"Captain Pike," one of the caterers interrupted, glancing at Spock and then back to the Captain. "There's a problem, and I was wondering --"

"Ah, well. It's always something, isn't it, Lieutenant Commander?" Pike said with a wry shake of his head. 

Spock blinked at him. "In what regard, sir?"

Pike merely grinned. "Rhetorical, Mister Spock." Glancing at the server who had begun to shift anxiously, Pike finished his drink and set it aside. "Well, I'm supposed to make sure all this goes off without a hitch, so I'd better take care of this. Sorry I can't give you more details about the new cadet now. How about I'll send him by tomorrow, and you can go from there?"

Spock nodded his acquiescence, but Pike was already striding off next to the caterer who gesticulated rapidly, apparently explaining some crisis related to the distribution of comestibles. 

Having demonstrated his attendance, as well as having met his goal of speaking directly to Captain Pike, Spock judged he could now depart. After raising a brief ta'al in the direction of Commander Punifra (who somehow managed to return the gesture despite juggling a full plate of hors d'oeuvres and a fresh alcoholic beverage), Spock made his way to the exit.

****************

Later that evening, Spock answered a few missives on his computer and composed a brief summation of recent events to send to his mother.

Having arrived home earlier from the event than he had anticipated, he found himself with an excess of time with which to complete an activity of his choosing before going to sleep.

He brushed his fingertips over his lute where it stood displayed in its customary stand in his living area. Next he cast a glance at the PADD atop his desk that held the schematics manuals of several Starfleet ships. 

Instead of choosing either the artistic pastime or the more pragmatic pursuit, Spock found himself walking slowly back to his bedroom and opening the top drawer of his bureau. 

He hesitated to pick up the item for several seconds longer than was strictly appropriate to make such an inconsequential decision. Up until now he had merely held Jim's underwear, felt the softness of the fabric. 

In the past week, he had mainly forced himself to return the underwear to the drawer without further examination or reflection upon its significance. But other times he had not entirely escaped the brief compulsion to picture Jim as he had appeared that night -- both when still attired with the item in question, and after he had discarded it in favor of fuller body contact with Spock. 

Spock gathered the cotton fabric up and fondled it absently as he considered the situation. He could not return the item at this point. To do so would require an explanation as to why he had pocketed Jim's clothing in the first place, particularly when Jim specifically asked him to help search for it. Spock was not assured he would be able to offer a justification, particularly when he himself was unsure of his motivation. 

He had never -- stolen seemed too strong a word, and yet Spock was hard pressed to come up with a suitable alternative. At least, he was unable to furnish one without resorting to romantic explanations he had read of in Terran literature, or remembered from his perusal of Vulcan pre-reform poetry. From his analyses of such fictive and lyric materials, he understood that to take an item from a paramour meant he was, in effect, keeping a love token.

Obviously there was no love between the partners in their scenario. Spock had met Jim only once -- not nearly enough acquaintance for the assessment of emotional affinity. And though the night they had shared was startlingly intimate in some ways, and lingered in Spock's thoughts, its passionate activities continually returning to his mind -- 

Spock glanced to the side of the room where his litter basket stood and looked back at the item in his hand. He pictured it being delivered to the waste management area for his apartment building, where it would be designated for disposal or processed for recycling. 

Irrationally, he clutched the fabric as he pictured the briefs being destroyed or repurposed. He purposefully dispelled the unpleasant imagining, and a far better image took its place: Jim's mischievous grin, his lowered golden eyelashes, Spock's own hands pushing these same boxer briefs down Jim's slim hips and over his muscular thighs. 

Spock strode over to his bed, where he laid the grey boxer briefs on the top blanket. He next disrobed, setting aside his instructor uniform shirt, jacket, and trousers on a convenient chair for later laundering. Now wearing only his regulation black undershirt and black briefs, he eased himself onto the mattress.

As with the expenditure of sexual energy with a partner, Vulcans deemed the pastime of self-pleasure a logical practice, designed to seek fulfillment of needs that would otherwise distract the individual. Since his youth, Spock had also esteemed the practice's value in providing a nighttime method of relaxation leading to improved sleep and therefore increased efficiency the following day.

Yet Spock knew he should register some wariness about the parameters of this particular instance. Using an item from a past lover spoke of sentimental attachment. Even were they both willing to investigate the possibility of a relationship between them, such a step violated Spock's personal policies: to avoid romantic entanglements at Starfleet generally, and to defer the pursuit of any such relationships during his first year as an instructor specifically. 

To debate the matter was futile. Spock should obviously pursue self-pleasure. But he ought to remove Cadet Kirk from his thoughts. In that case, he obviously must not seek sexual satisfaction by utilizing Jim's personal item as a masturbatory aid.

All these cogent reasons lined up in Spock's mind as neatly as if he had created a document in order to rank and articulate a rationale for his behavior. His path was clear. 

And yet ultimately Spock did not stop himself, once he had continued to disrobe until he was fully naked, from raising the grey cotton to his face, pressing the soft fabric to his lips, and inhaling the faint but lingering scent of Jim on the garment. Nor did he halt his impulse to take the briefs and rub them over his hardening erection as he reclined on the bed. 

When he at last attained his pleasure, he did so by recalling the way the sweat on Jim's body tasted, remembering the captivating desperate noises Jim made, and recollecting the way their combined scents overwhelmed his senses. In the throes of his orgasm such memories felt startlingly vivid, as though the events had just occurred. 

Yet as Spock closed his eyes, the absence of Jim in the present made that so recent night seem far too long ago.

****************

The next morning, Spock quickly used the sonic shower and changed into a fresh uniform in order to best present himself for the meetings ahead.

Though customarily he pulled the sheets and blankets of his bed taut before dressing, for whatever reason when he rose to meditate early that morning he had neglected to do so. 

Now with a few minutes before he must depart, his eyes lingered on the rumpled state of his bed. 

His sleep had not proved restful as he had hoped. At one juncture during the night he woke fully and elected to repeat the practice of inhaling the musky fragrance enduring on Jim's boxer briefs before again finding pleasure in massaging his skin with the underwear. 

He had intended to dispose of them entirely upon rising, particularly as he had ejaculated onto them during his second session. Yet when the sun rose, he left them tangled with the bedclothes. There was no reason for further delay, however. 

Instead of following through on the rational plan to discard the briefs, he paused to contemplate their state. He felt irrationally disappointed he had sullied the garment with his climax. Now the predominant smell on the fabric was his own rather than Jim's. 

With only a minute to spare before he absolutely had to leave his apartment, Spock stripped the bed of its disheveled fabrics and placed them in his laundry receptacle. A second later he held Jim's briefs above the litter basket and let them go. It was a fitting resolution, disposing of the last physical link to an attachment he did not wish to encourage. 

A moment later, he doubled back on his steps and retrieved the garment in order to place it with the sheets in the laundry receptacle. 

He quickly washed his hands and left the apartment, telling himself he had no leisure to question the logic of his choice, for indeed he now had to hurry to make his first appointment.

****************

Though the demarcation of time was always ordered, and thus never something that could go "quickly" or "drag on and on", to Spock it did seem his day ended sooner than anticipated.

Much to his relief, he had kept from devoting all his attentions to the variety of issues factually or potentially related to Cadet Jim Kirk. No doubt it was due to his inevitable adjustment to his new responsibilities. He brushed aside the doubt that his ability to concentrate had rather to do with the previous night's abandon in allowing his mind to fill with fantasies of Jim. 

Spock re-checked his agenda to make certain that he had left no chore unfulfilled. He paused when he reflected that he had not heard any word of his new advisee. Pike had not, as promised, sent a cadet to meet Spock. Nor had he forwarded to Spock any pertinent details or files. 

Spock had some time ago accustomed himself to the fact that humans did not always follow through on their intentions. Indeed, it seemed more often than not their best-laid plans met with detours. He did not bother to speculate what prevented Pike's completion of his plan; instead, he sent off a brief communication asking Pike to verify whether or not Spock should still expect the arrival of the cadet before the day's conclusion. 

As Spock packed away the PADDs he had brought with him to campus and prepared to leave, he heard the sound of an alert on his computer.

> _Spock,_
> 
> _Sorry about the confusion. My yeoman must have neglected to put things in motion. Mind dropping by my place tonight, 1800 hours? I'm having a small get-together, and I've already invited the cadet I told you about. I'd be happy to introduce you two there, and glad to have you join us for dinner. ___

Spock automatically checked the address and calibrated the route as well as the duration required to arrive at Pike's off-campus home. Though he occasionally thought it strange how quickly Earthers initiated personal interactions -- inviting someone to one's home on Vulcan was a rather more significant event -- he did not wish to pass up an opportunity to establish greater professional rapport with Captain Pike.

Additionally, though attending a social meal would present a departure from his intended plans, Spock decided he would welcome the chance to dispense with introducing himself to the cadet in question. That way, he could begin the term in earnest the next day with all of his advisory tasks met. 

_I will attend_ , he messaged quickly. He would have just enough time to change his clothing back at his apartment before departing for Pike's residence.

****************

"Mister Spock," Pike exclaimed upon answering the door to Spock's summoning chime. "You know, I've always meant to ask you over, but the right occasion never seemed to come up before. So glad you could make it tonight."

"Indeed," Spock replied, unsure what other response would be appropriate. He could hear the murmur of conversation somewhere beyond the entry point along with the clink of glasses indicating the consumption of before-dinner drinks.

Unsure of the protocol for dining with one's superior, Spock had remembered the advisement of an etiquette manual encouraging guests to provide libations for hosts. With that in mind, he had procured a moderately priced vintage of wine. The impulse had been an appropriate one he was relieved to notice, for Pike scanned the label with a smile and tucked the bottle under his arm. 

"Let's head upstairs," Pike suggested. "I can introduce you around, and we'll have a drink, relax a little before the meal." He turned and climbed the stairs two at a time with a sort of youthful playfulness one did not often encounter in upper-ranking officers. 

"Jim, here's the very man I want you to meet," Pike announced cheerfully when they attained the level of his abode where a small grouping of guests congregated. "Mister Spock, Jim; Jim, this is Lieutenant Commander Spock."

Jim, half hidden in the corner of the room, turned at the sound of Spock's name. 

A strange surge of pleasure filled Spock as he took in the unexpected sight -- the flash of dark blond hair, the sheer surprise mixed with cautious excitement on that expressive face, those widened and continually arresting blue eyes -- and then he watched, slightly alarmed, as Jim choked on the beverage he had evidently swallowed moments before.

"Oh no, are you all right?" the woman he chatted with implored anxiously. She laid her small hand on Jim's upper arm and peered up at him for a sign of his well-being. When he gestured she should give him a moment, she flashed a resentful look at Spock, as though he had been responsible for the liquid obstruction to Jim's trachea. 

Spock gazed levelly back at her before he narrowed his eyes at the placement of her hand, still resting on Jim's arm. As he understood it, stalking over and yanking her fingers away from Jim's person did not fit the recommendations for well-behaved dinner guests. That did not stop the scenario from jumping to the forefront of his mind, however. 

Overall, Spock estimated that he hid his initial reaction to Jim's surprising appearance at Pike's party well enough. His heart rate increasing in his side, the miniscule parting of his lips, the way his fingers flexed upon seeing Jim standing there: all those were presumably undetectable to humans used to more overt signs of response. However, a Vulcan observing the scene would have easily marked all of those clues, as well as Spock's sharper than normal inhalation when he first realized he stood in the same room as Jim Kirk. 

"Sorry Marta, but Spock and I need to steal Jim away," Pike said smoothly. He did not wait for her answer, instead beckoning Jim over to join them. 

The word _steal_ rang in Spock's ears, and for one torturous second, Spock could imagine himself actually spiriting Jim away -- taking his arm with a warning look for the woman called Marta, covetously guiding him out of this party, keeping him well away from anyone who might gaze at him with their greedy eyes, bringing him somewhere private for -- 

Yet for what purpose would he take Jim away from this gathering? Spock forced himself to regain his internal composure, discomfited not only by his longings but by the jealous and fierce nature of them. 

Obviously he should not contrive how best to pull Jim away from his instructors and peers at a location intended for the mingling of such people. Instead, he should endeavor to avoid a potentially awkward reunion. For clearly this was not another chance meeting. From the immediacy of Pike's introduction, it was easy to deduce Jim Kirk was quite likely the first-year cadet Pike meant Spock to advise. Every interaction they had in front of Pike and the others present must therefore be conducted in a manner mindful of that strong presumption. 

The question was how best to begin, how to imply Jim must greet and speak to Spock in a professional manner. Spock watched closely while Jim fumbled his nearly-empty drink down to a side table and held his gaze as Jim looked up. 

"Hi," Jim said nervously as he crossed over to them without regard for the young woman still lingering at his side (Spock failed to quash his rush of satisfaction at the display). Though his greeting was inappropriately casual, there was wariness in his expression, which to Spock boded well for their ensuing interactions. 

"Greetings," Spock replied blandly.

Jim faltered as Spock spoke -- one step away from him, so close Spock could have easily grasped his shoulders and pulled him forward into his arms to steady him. Such a reaction was unwelcome, but informative. Spock began to prepare for the possibility Jim would not react with appropriate indifference. 

Unfortunately, Jim's physical comportment seemed to support this likelihood. His eyes fixed on Spock with laser intensity; he appeared to ignore Pike entirely. Almost as if unconscious of the motion, he began to reach out his right hand. 

Spock registered the sinking dread he felt at the prospect of touching Jim even as a jolt of exhilaration made him long for that contact. He made no move away, a frisson working along his nerves as he awaited the brush of Jim's fingers. 

"Hang on," Pike said, easily halting Jim's arm. "Jim, you probably don't know yet, but Vulcans aren't big on being touched without their express permission." He grinned as a flush rose to Jim's cheeks, but his relaxed tone appeared designed to defuse any resulting sense of tension. 

At Jim's jerky nod, Pike turned to Spock. "Lieutenant Commander, you'll have to give him a pass this one time. After all, classes haven't begun, so the cadets haven't started their _Intro to Xenocultural Norms and Customs_ yet." 

"Understood. No offense is taken," Spock answered. 

The burning on Jim's cheeks did not diminish at Spock's placating words, however. Rather, it spread to the tips of his ears, and perhaps further. An image presented itself in Spock's head, of undoing the buttons on Jim's long-sleeved shirt so that he might determine precisely to what point this enthralling coloration extended. Did it run across the pleasing line of his collarbone? Along his toned chest? Did it reach the downy line of hair leading from his navel to his pelvis? Spock's fingers twitched to come into direct contact with Jim's skin and trace that line of heat. 

In an effort to compose himself, Spock straightened completely, making certain he regarded Jim with no emotional display evident. 

Jim's eyes flickered to Spock's face, a hint of vulnerability in them. Clearly he saw something in Spock's expression that displeased him, for a flash of disappointment crossed his features before his lips tightened. 

"But you'll have plenty of time to accustom yourself to Vulcan habits," Pike went on pleasantly as he clapped a steady hand on Jim's shoulder. "Mister Spock will be your advisor this year." He leaned in a little closer and said to Jim _sotto voce_ , "Might want to start off on the right foot with a proper greeting this time." 

"Lieutenant Commander," Jim said at last, his voice rough. 

"Cadet Kirk," Spock acknowledged in return. 

"I just knew the two of you would get along like a house on fire," Pike said, his eyebrows raised as he looked from one of them to the other. "Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted in person. The Lieutenant Commander can fill you in on the protocol for arranging meetings." He moved across the room, stopping a few times along the way to chat with a guest.

Jim watched the captain go, seemingly unsure how to proceed now they had been left alone. 

Spock immediately clasped his hands behind his back so that he would not be tempted to thread his fingers into Jim's soft hair or consider catching him around his narrow waist and hips. He was fully in control of his actions, though he would later have to spend extra time meditating to compensate for his regrettable failure to completely rein in such impulses.

"So. Hey," Jim said awkwardly. 

When Spock did not instantly answer Jim's redundant salutation, Jim leaned closer to say in a low, disgruntled voice, "Listen, I get it. You thought what happened would be a one-time thing, right? Probably didn't want to --" and here Jim waved a hand vaguely -- "with anyone you knew from Starfleet. Kind of why I went to that place, too." He stopped speaking and watched Spock with a guarded air. 

Spock pressed his lips together, still not replying. 

Jim huffed out a frustrated breath. "And let me guess: you didn't suppose you'd run into me ever again. I mean, I know for sure you didn't think that, given the way you wrapped things up, right?" Jim laughed lightly, though it did not entirely mask the suggestion that this memory made him discontented. "And now here we are. But listen, no worries. I'll just ask Pike if someone else can advise me."

Such a solution would indeed remove any potential for strained interactions between the two of them. It had much to recommend it as a solution to Spock's disquiet over having to deal with Jim in this manner.

And yet Spock felt his fingers, still safely hidden behind his back, begin to curl into fists at the very idea of Jim being reassigned to someone else, of Jim _choosing_ another. 

Certainly Captain Pike would find it troubling if Spock failed to follow through on the advising task he had set. Obviously Spock wished to uphold his professional reputation; thus, it was rational to bolster his rapport with a superior by carrying out the work laid out for him. As he mentally reviewed these logical points, he did his best not to stare at the way Jim's shirt stretched appealingly across his chest. 

"You will not," Spock said with finality.

Jim's brow furrowed, and the beginnings of a mulish expression flitted across his face. "I won't?"

"I assure you, any previous meetings between us will in no way hinder our advising relationship," Spock said stiffly. "You need not seek another mentor." 

"Right." Jim raked a hand through his hair, mussing it. "Okay, if you think we can just -- I guess it doesn't have to be a big deal, right?"

Spock raised a single eyebrow. "As you say, Cadet Kirk." 

Jim nodded distractedly, obviously still not completely convinced. Spock waited for him to voice his next objection, assured he would counter whatever doubt Jim presented capably.

But instead Jim's eyes sharpened as they trained on Spock. "Pike told you my last name before tonight?"

"It would be appropriate for him to relay such information," Spock answered. Such a reply was not strictly a lie, after all.

"Because I'm pretty sure he mentioned that with the busy start of term he hadn't even told whoever was advising me my full name yet," Jim went on. He searched Spock's face. "But you knew it already, didn't you?"

Faced with a more direct inquiry, Spock saw no alternative but to answer, though he attempted to avoid complete disclosure without precisely prevaricating. "In the process of researching the academic specialties of the incoming class I came across your files, and hence learned your surname."

"You just stumbled across the files of a command track cadet," Jim clarified. "When you're a science guy, with no doubt all science guy advisees."

"Is there some point you wish to make explicitly, Cadet?" Spock inquired. He glanced around to make certain they were not being observed. They were not, but even so, he strove to shape his words with an air of detachment. "Please be aware that as your advisor, I appreciate plain speech related to our mutual professional interests, rather than leading suggestions of a more personal nature."

"You want straight talk?" Jim asked. "Fine." His voice lowered to a murmur, and Spock attempted to disregard how appealing he found the ensuing soft intonations. "I gave you an out. Pike could set me up with someone else. You clearly don't want to take it. Now you think I ought to act like you are, all stiff and cold about it. But I'd bet good money you're not as chill about this as you're trying to seem. You've obviously been trying to find stuff out about me. And why would you do that unless you're interested in me?"

When Spock did not at once reply, Jim continued, "What I'm getting at is that for me, I'm pretty sure there's something more here besides a one-night thing." He looked Spock in the eye, those blue eyes intent. "And I think you feel it too."

"Please conduct yourself with greater self-control," Spock told him in a harsh undertone. "I will not remind you again that our relationship is now an academic one, with clear expectations guiding our meetings and conversations."

"All right, let's take our seats so I can wow you all with my culinary expertise," Pike announced generally. A few people standing near him obligingly laughed at what had evidently been intended as a joke. Pike gestured to a room off to the side filled almost to its entirety with a sizeable dining set. "Cadet Rajani, you're over here by me; Lieutenant Nancy, at the other end; Commander Rodriguez, if you could sit next to Nancy --"

"I can't do this," Jim said to himself under his breath. "Hey, tell Pike I had to take off," he told Spock. "And I'll make it easy for both of us. You can comm me any advising stuff, and I'll sign off or whatever. I don't need your help, okay?"

With that, he slipped out the door. Spock tracked the rapid tread of his feet as he jogged down the entry stairs.

"Where's Cadet Kirk off to?" Pike asked curiously, now standing beside Spock. "He said he was looking forward to eating a home-cooked meal." The other attendees had by now all gathered in the designated banqueting area; Spock could hear them chatting as they took their places. 

"Some obstacle to his continued attendance came to mind," Spock told him. It was not strictly an equivocation. "He had to depart suddenly."

Pike rubbed his chin, staring at the door. "I have high hopes for Kirk, but he'll have to get some of his emotional responses in check. As far as I'm concerned, all the more reason you'll make the best advisor for him, Spock."

"Excuse me," Spock muttered. "I must leave as well." 

He tuned out Pike's surprised query, focused only on following Jim's path.

Logically he knew the best course would be for him to remain and take advantage of the professional opportunity Pike's gathering presented. Time would later afford a chance to settle Jim's volatile spirits while continuing to convey to him how greater decorum must accompany their future meetings. In fact, allowing Jim to leave might present a chance to drive home Spock's point that they must now leave aside any lingering feelings created by their brief physical intimacy. 

Despite all of these eminently logical thoughts, though, the urge to go after Jim grew until it throbbed in his veins, until it became a roar in Spock's ears. With relief, he gave in to his compulsion, focused only on finding Jim, letting Pike and his party and the rest of the world fall away.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim had gained the distance of several city blocks already, a length Spock could easily have covered in a fraction of the time it had taken Jim. Yet Spock trailed behind Jim for several minutes. Strangely, he found the sight of Jim walking ahead of him tantalizing, fuel for the wild compulsion driving Spock to follow him in the first place. 

The busy street quickly gave way to a quieter area, marked by residences in a greater state of disrepair than the ones surrounding Pike's apartment. Soon the sounds of traffic became more subdued and passing cars more infrequent. Spock could now hear the slap-slap of Jim's shoes on the pavement as he himself took care to walk inaudibly.

Two blocks later Jim veered off, hands stuffed into his pockets and shoulders hunched as he crossed the street and ducked down a side-road. Spock turned, still keeping his distance but closely focused on Jim's trajectory. Soon the narrow motorway met an intersection and turned into a small park studded with a variety of trees. 

The concrete path transecting the deserted park gave way to a dirt trail, and the packed earth muffled Jim's steps. Spock rounded a clutch of pine trees at an increased pace, so that he would not lose sight of Jim. But to his consternation a few paces later he found Jim facing him, looking highly annoyed.

"And you're following me because why?" Jim demanded.

"Such an isolated area may not be safe --" 

"Oh, fuck that. I'm fine here; you just came after me because you don't like losing arguments."

Spock glared at him. "Your point is invalid. We are not having an argument."

Jim laughed harshly. "We're not? Let's catch you up. You don't want me to switch advisors even though it's obviously going to be seriously awkward between us. Then you don't want to deal with the super obvious fact that you scoped out my files to find out more about me -- which I know I'm right about, by the way; I can feel it in my gut. Plus you clearly want to pretend you don't have any kind of feelings for me. Well, I can tell you right now, pal, if you're skipping out on Pike's party to stalk me, that's some serious bullshit right there."

"Cease making these contentions," Spock warned him, advancing toward Jim. The accusation of stalking ought to rankle particularly, as it implied an ethical or even criminal breach of propriety. But instead it made something savage in Spock hum with pleasure.

"Why should I?" Jim grinned dangerously at him, tipping up his chin and thrusting out his chest, arrogant challenge clear in his posturing. "We're not on campus and classes haven't even started yet -- or do you think you get jurisdiction over me anywhere, anytime?" As Spock took another step closer, Jim's voice dropped to a teasing murmur. "Going to pull rank on me already, Lieutenant Commander?" In contrast to the enticing softness of his tone, his blue eyes had gone flinty. "Maybe get ready to lecture me on my poor conduct, because you're the wise instructor and I'm the naïve little plebe? I bet you'd just love to discipline me, because mmphh --" 

Before Jim could continue, Spock slammed him against the nearest tree, nearly causing the two of them to trip as he yanked their bodies tight and smashed their mouths together. They stayed upright through the onslaught in part thanks to Spock's superior sense of balance, and in part because of Jim's apparent instinct to grab on to Spock and hold tight. 

Even as they righted their mouths after that first teeth-edged contact, they kissed ferociously, desperately, until Jim pulled away to gulp for air. The sight of Jim panting and with a deep flush on his face made Spock's blood burn. He sucked bruising kisses along Jim's neck, inhaling the notes of Jim's skin with relish. 

"Oh yeah, that's, uhhh -- hold up. Are you smelling me?" Jim asked, sounding both incredulous and dazed. Despite the hint of protest in his words, he readily arched his neck so Spock might lick along the pathway of his jugular and lap up the faint saline traces there.

"Such an action would serve no purpose," Spock replied even as he drew breath again at the crook of Jim's neck. He caught both of Jim's wrists in one hand, pinning them above Jim's head. 

"Fuck yes," Jim whispered as Spock shoved his shirt up so that he might feel Jim's skin with no barrier. He dragged his fingertips of his free hand over Jim's warm flesh, thumbing over each of Jim's nipples and flicking them as they peaked. 

As Jim swayed on his feet, the image of both of them entirely naked as they had been at the club surged into Spock's mind. For the barest second he considered the undeniable advantages of repeating that scenario, having access to all of Jim. Yet they were in a far more public place now, albeit a seemingly forsaken one, where anyone might discover them. 

Even in view of their locale, the greater concern seemed to Spock that he could wait no longer, could not conceive of wasting time with the business of disrobing. Not when Jim was right before him, so ready, so tempting, skin golden under the softer light of the moon.

Spock unfastened Jim's trousers with haste so that he could thrust his hands inside to cup and squeeze Jim's backside. He did not bother stifling a groan as he once again caressed firm flesh. The swell of those buttocks seemed to fit his hands perfectly. He crowded Jim more tightly, more covetously against the tree as he pictured baring Jim from the waist down, stretching him out so that Spock could bite along those plush curves. 

Jim breathed hard and grasped Spock back, clutching him in what seemed sheer desperation, twisting against him until he could press his hard length against Spock's thigh. "You smell so good," Jim muttered, nosing behind Spock's ear and catching the lobe between his teeth. 

"Cease speaking," Spock ordered, though he immediately kissed Jim as recompense for his severe tone. 

"Thought you liked it when I talked," Jim said archly. He gave Spock a lazy grin and rolled his hips forward to press their erections together. And here again was the Jim of the night at the club, self-assured and brash. The combination of that charming man of Spock's memory with the highly promising cadet he had observed since then seemed to Spock utterly enchanting. He would possess him -- he would have him entirely -- no one else would ever touch him in this manner again, because Jim belonged to Spock --

Spock ignored his own thoughts and did not bother answering Jim's baiting, instead again catching those full lips and darting his tongue into Jim's soft mouth. He huffed in approval as Jim opened for him eagerly. Jim's frantic cry in answer sent a thrill through his system, made him increase the pressure with a growl. 

Their hands collided at the juncture of Jim's waist, but Spock knocked Jim's away, satisfying his urge to yank down Jim's underwear himself. He set aside the curiosity about whether they were of a kind to the other pair of Jim's, now freshly laundered and secreted away in Spock's bureau. 

"Yes," Spock hissed when he curled his fingers around Jim's stiff length and Jim bucked into his hand helplessly. 

"Come on, you too, feel you against me," Jim insisted even as he flung his arms around Spock's shoulders, seemingly ceding control. "Come on, I want it."

Spock at once pulled down his own trousers, without regard to the way some of the buttons flew off. 

"Very well," he breathed in Jim's ear as he caught both their erections together and began to pull on them in steady rhythm. He reveled in the feel of that smooth skin against his, the silky hardness thrusting against his own member, the way Jim gasped and hid his face in Spock's neck, dragging his teeth down the skin in desperate pleasure.

"You have not given this to anyone else," Spock murmured suddenly. He had meant it as an inquiry, but it emerged a warning vow.

"Uhn, what?" Jim asked. He tried to meet Spock's gaze, but his eyes were too heavy-lidded, and flickered back to watching their erections surging together, plump heads thrusting out of Spock's fist over and over again. 

"No one else has touched you like this," Spock insisted.

Jim gave a strangled laugh even as he snapped his hips forward and rubbed his lightly stubbled cheek against Spock's smooth one. "Hate to break it to you, but though you're pretty amazing, you're definitely not my first --"

"No," Spock interrupted, using his free hand to thread through Jim's hair and compel Jim to meet his gaze. "No one else since I last had you."

A series of expressions changed quickly on Jim's face -- a flash of surprise, stubbornness, and just a shade of triumph -- before his features settled on a kind of fierce excitement. 

"No one else since then," Jim agreed in a hushed voice, arching in Spock's arms to let Spock gather him as close as possible. "Best fuck of my life so far, did you know that? I've gotten off every day, hell, sometimes twice a day thinking about your cock inside me, the way you had me up against the wall. I can't get you out of my head, can't even think about anyone else --"

The image of Jim taking himself in hand to memories of their encounter, even as Spock in his own apartment had pleasured himself to thoughts of Jim, further fueled fierce fire in him, and he stopped Jim's words with another brutal kiss. His climax built from the base of his spine until everything in him tensed for a moment before that marvelous release. Through it, he clutched Jim close, feeling a primitive sense of conquest as Jim rode through his own series of shudders and the runnels of his release spilled over Spock's fingers.

Spock lifted his hand to his face without thinking, licking off the essence of the two of them combined. Jim let out a breath of sleepy pleasure before shifting close enough for his tongue to dart out and join in. Together, the two of them cleaned Spock's fingers with a surreal and sensual languor Spock could not remember ever experiencing with a partner before. 

The flickers of their tongues so close together soon morphed into more kissing, heady and slow now, sending waves of contentment through Spock's entire being. Their fingers twined together, holding tightly, and Spock squeezed Jim's soft palm against his own.

As Jim feathered softer kisses along Spock's cheeks, over his eyebrows, Spock gradually managed to regulate his breathing. As he returned to his more controlled state of mind and started to regain his customary sensibilities, he felt reluctance tug at him. Strangely, though he typically managed the transition after erotic experiences with ease, he dearly wished to stay in this space with Jim, this almost tangible plane of contentment they shared where the rest of the world became inconsequential. 

And incredibly, even though the gratification permeating him after orgasm had left him quite satisfied, Spock once again felt a mounting desire buzz through his nerves, a need to take Jim unfurling in his gut. For several seconds he could think of nothing but how to get Jim as quickly as possible from this ill-concealed public spot to his own home, where they might have the utmost privacy to do whatever they pleased. 

He closed his eyes and took account of himself. He knew this could not be. All his plans to avoid emotional involvement with other members of Starfleet, to shun relationships with anyone during his adjustment to teaching, had been made with the utmost logic in mind. Added to that, the intensity of his desire for Jim clearly troubled his ability to attain a productive state of mind. Some sensual abandon during the act was expected, obviously, even welcomed. But the wildness of his craving tonight upon seeing Jim, the power of his need when Jim had walked away from him-- how he had followed Jim to this very park and compelled the start of their encounter with force -- such uncivilized instincts threatened to undo Spock entirely if left unchecked.

He inhaled one last time, greedy to remember the hazy fulfillment of this moment. He closed his eyes, registering the firm warmth of Jim's body against his, smelling the enticing scent of his sweat. Then he straightened, set his garments to rights as best as he was able, and prepared to deal with whatever came next. 

"So..." Clear blue eyes searched his face. Jim seemed about to smile, but he held back, watching Spock with a hint of wariness. 

To act the agent that would change that guarded expression to one of outright mistrust made Spock ache. But there was nothing for it. 

"Cadet Kirk, though I acknowledge the pleasurable aspect to our most recent experience together --" 

"Oh Christ, here we go." Jim slumped against the tree, exhaling loudly and with much exasperation. He yanked his trousers up the rest of the way, busying himself with fastening them. 

"-- the fact remains that our interactions must take on a more formal tenor in the future," Spock insisted on finishing, raising his voice over Jim's inarticulate but disgruntled objection. He understood Jim had taken offense, but Spock estimated his message more crucial than any hurt feelings Jim might entertain. "It would be the correct course to reassess our personal impulses toward one another and subvert them to our professional relationship." 

Jim looked down at the ground. A slight smile now indeed played on his lips, but it appeared more grim than pleased. "And here I was thinking you're finally cottoning on."

"Cottoning on?" 

Jim rolled his eyes. "You basically just jumped me like you can't keep your hands off me. Then you pretty much made me promise I wasn't trying to get it on with anyone else but you. So forgive me for thinking you're finally getting the obvious, that there's definitely something between us, and we should see where it can go."

"Though I cannot deny the impulsive nature of what just occurred, that does not support the argument for further such incidents between us. In point of fact, we ought to take this interaction as evidence we have now fully experienced the benefits of indulging our unthinking attraction. Given our circumstances, nothing more can come of it. Yet now we can act more mindfully and take greater care to manage our impulses toward one another in pursuit of more professional rewards."

Jim shook his head incredulously. "Wow, okay. Are you seriously telling me you were just trying to fuck me out of your system? And now you can slot me away into some neat little box in that file cabinet you call your brain so you can get your work done?"

Spock cleared his throat. "Such a reductive aim was never my intention. I have already admitted that I too felt compelled as you do. I should clarify that I share the blame in acting most unwisely --"

"I am such a freaking idiot," Jim muttered. He smoothed down his clothing with jerky, angry movements. "I don't know what I was expecting. But I should have figured out this would be a disaster from the moment you wanted to play like nothing ever happened between us back at Pike's."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Surely you can understand that our behavior from this moment on can in no way betray what transpired between us --"

"Betray?" Jim asked, his voice rising. "What the actual fuck? Granted, I don't know Starfleet regs backwards and forwards yet, not enough to tell you how the brass feels about this kind of thing, but there's no way it's totally prohibited." He eyed Spock suspiciously. "Is this some Vulcan taboo, no sexing up people who work with you? Or no fooling around with someone unless it's totally logical? Which is probably never, so how baby Vulcans get here I've got no idea unless it's with chemistry sets." His jaw set tightly, he pushed off the tree and began to step away from Spock.

Spock caught Jim's arm in order to halt his motion. "I am not obligated to disabuse you of your misapprehensions, but know your assumptions are incorrect. Additionally, I would strongly advise that you remain here, for we are not finished discussing this matter." 

"Like hell we're not," Jim shot back. He shrugged off Spock's hold. When Spock moved to grasp his arm again, Jim dodged him and shoved Spock away hard. 

For a moment Spock lost his balance, a highly improbably result. But then again, he had already observed Jim had an unbalancing effect on him. 

"Figure out your bullshit before the next time I see you," Jim continued, backing away. "I'm not going to be your dirty little secret just because you're ashamed of fucking me."

"I have no shame regarding this act or any related sexual activities," Spock snapped at him. His voice rose as Jim took another step away. "And in any case, I have no need to hide a furtive personal involvement with you, because this is the last time this sort of activity is happening between the two of us."

He should have ceased speaking at that juncture. But once again Jim seemed adept in undermining Spock's resolution. The mere sight of him rolling his eyes and beginning to turn away prompted Spock to declare, "Furthermore, seeking erotic relief is never considered a transgression against the Vulcan way." 

That stopped Jim in his tracks. "No, it wouldn't be, would it?" he said slowly to himself. "Doesn't seem too logical." His eyes flickered to Spock's face, and uncanny understanding shone in them. "Then I'm guessing we're dealing with some hang up that's all you, huh?"

Spock felt an unfamiliar sense of dread sweep through him, not just at Jim's strange perceptiveness, but at the gravest of all accusations implicit in his words. The hint Jim recognized Spock was less than he ought to be, the suggestion he comprehended that Spock was _not Vulcan enough_... 

But no, there was no way Jim knew about Spock's heritage, about his past emotional failings, about his current inability to control his frenetic sexual whims. He knew nothing of Vulcan culture, of the experiences Spock had living on his home planet, of the tragedy Spock had borne witness to recently -- that colony on Cataclys, the loss of so many who would have contributed so much --

No, Jim knew nothing of what might impugn Spock's identity as a Vulcan, and there was no reason he would ever find out. Spock had assessed his own imperfections, and he alone would hold himself accountable for them. 

"You speak of my mind and my sensibilities, and yet you know almost nothing about me," he told Jim thickly. 

Jim impatiently raked his fingers through his hair. "I know you're the king of mixed signals. 'Oh, tell me you haven't been with anyone else,' like you're trying to make this exclusive, then, 'Don't let on I did naughty things with you because I'm a _professional_ ,' and making it seem like I'm the one who's confused."

Spock frowned at Jim's not at all accurate imitation of his voice. As he remembered to wipe his expression of any perturbation, his shoulders tensed at Jim's innuendo. Certainly Spock did not act out of confusion now that their intimate act was concluded; he only attempted to clarify their status to each other. 

"Though you insist upon behaving melodramatically about this, we must still reconcile our mandated relationship as mentor and protégé," Spock told him stiffly.

"Oh, fuck you," Jim said, though suddenly he seemed more tired than angry. "I've got no idea why I'm so bent out of shape over you anyway." He shook his head, all that brash confidence drained from his current dejected posture. "I hook up with people for fun all the time, and it's never been a big deal before. But I can't get you out of my skull. It's driving me nuts -- and you know what? You're making it worse by messing with me." 

Spock knew if he meant to emphasize their professional dynamic to rights, he must address the man before him as Cadet Kirk. Instead, he took a step closer and murmured, "Jim..."

"Just leave me alone, okay?" Jim said softly. His eyes darted here and there, looking everywhere but at Spock. "I'll work out the details with Pike, and then you won't have to deal with me again."

He shrugged past Spock and stalked away, muttering something that sounded less like invective against Spock and more like self-recrimination. 

Spock stared after him for some time, long after Jim disappeared from the path in front of him. He glanced around, feeling strangely unmoored.

At last Spock forced himself to trudge off in the direction of his apartment so that he would not undertake the grievous error of seeking Jim out again to force him to speak about issues concerning them both.

****************

"What's this I hear about Jim Kirk wanting someone else to advise him?" Pike asked Spock the next morning in the faculty lounge on the first official day of classes. He raised his coffee mug to his lips, but his eyes remained on Spock.

"I do not support Cadet Kirk's request," Spock said slowly. Though Pike looked somewhat disgruntled, Spock could not precisely tell what if anything he knew of their circumstances. Spock did not wish to give away anything unnecessarily, and therefore proceeded with caution. "He mentioned having doubts about our ability to work together. But I am certain I can advise him capably."

Pike regarded Spock closely for several seconds. 

"Okay. If you think it'll work, I'll tell him we're moving ahead as planned, and send him by to see you." He nodded at Spock before making his way to speak to another instructor.

Spock reacted with his own nod too late for Pike to see it. He crossed to the other side of the room so that he might fetch a cup of water and drink it methodically, though he was not thirsty. His hopes were that the familiar, mundane act would calm his mind somewhat. 

At the other side of the lounge, Pike settled into a conversation with another instructor new to teaching at Starfleet. The woman evidently made a joke of some sort, for Pike laughed amiably, the tension he had displayed when speaking to Spock now entirely gone.

Most likely Jim had not revealed his reasoning for wanting to switch to a different advisor. Yet Spock had previously noted Captain Pike discovered much about others through the use of intuition. Though he thought Pike's perceptive ability admirable in the past, remembering that trait now made Spock shift uncomfortably. 

Even if Jim had honored Spock's preferences and not furnished details of their activities, Pike might have gleaned some understanding of what had transpired. He needn't worry, of course, that Pike would find fault with their past involvement; obviously such activities did not violate protocol so long as their connection did not hinder Jim's academic pursuits. Yet even without the concern that Captain Pike might presume some breach of regulations, Spock left the faculty lounge earlier than he had intended, uneasy that his superior potentially entertained less than flattering ideas about Spock's increasingly poor self-control.

****************

A full day passed. Spock's classes met, and he instructed his new students appropriately. A meeting with Spock's academic department began and concluded without incident, and a committee he served on gathered together and executed its duties capably.

Yet throughout the day Spock heard nothing of Jim and received no forms indicating either that Jim required his approval for his coursework or that Jim had requested and been granted another advisor to counsel him. 

Though Spock accomplished all essential tasks, the lingering lack of resolution regarding Cadet Kirk proved disruptive. By evening, Spock calculated he had worked throughout the day with a reduction of as much as 8.593% in productivity. At this point he could not afford any decrease in his output, particularly if he was to keep up with his own research, for moreover the loss of efficacy from recent days cumulatively created more tasks and obligations left unmet. 

His concerns affected multiple facets of his routine, not only scholarly ones. In the late afternoon he had to contend with a worried communication from his mother inquiring if all was well, for he had entirely forgotten to send to her the message he had already recorded. She well knew such negligence uncharacteristic for him, and he was compelled to use additional time to include a postscript reassuring her. 

When the second day of classes began without word of Jim's advising situation, Spock resolved to apply himself with as full a focus as he could muster so that he might put the unease and distraction from his mind. 

He ordered the small space of his junior instructor's office -- the old-fashioned door with its creaking knob opening mechanism closed so that he might concentrate-- and assembled the wide-ranging data he obtained on his last mission into organized collections on his computer. 

He arranged for laboratory facilities and booked them at regular times so that he might conduct his personal research throughout the term with a view to publishing his findings eventually.

He even went to another social gathering, this one entirely optional, at which instructors were invited to participate in an exchange of words while consuming caffeinated beverages (though Spock himself drank only water). Pike offered him an untroubled smile as they passed one another, somewhat alleviating Spock's concerns about their rapport.

Finally, he spent time perusing the records of a sizable portion of the entering class at Starfleet so that he might truly maintain what he had already told Cadet Kirk, that he had examined the details for multiple new students rather than solely seeking out Jim's files.

Because of this, Spock learned there were five cadets in the incoming class who possessed some educational experience of Modern Golic Vulcan. He made note of their names and sent each a message offering himself as a conversational partner should they wish to practice the language. It was only logical he offer his help to those pursuing such worthy studies. And if it was also true that Spock encountered very few opportunities to speak Vulcan now that he had left his home planet, well, that issue was of ancillary concern. He had thought when they visited Cataclys -- but no, there had been no opportunities to speak his native tongue there.

Just as he judged it time to shut down his computer and proceed to his apartment, there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Spock called, closing the program containing his messages and facing the door while still seated.

Jim Kirk stood on the threshold, his cadet hat under his arm.


	6. Chapter 6

Spock straightened where he sat. A thrill of victory thrummed in him -- how very irrational, even absurd, to experience such a reaction just at the sight of Jim appearing before him. He subsumed it as best as he was able and managed to say evenly, "Cadet Kirk."

"Lieutenant Commander," Kirk greeted him in turn. His normally expressive face was almost entirely blank. It should have gratified Spock to see Jim compose himself, presumably in view of how they ought to interact from this point on. But instead frustration prevailed, a rush of it so sudden that his head ached. 

"You may close the door behind you and be seated," Spock told him when Kirk made no move to enter completely. Spock kept his hands underneath the desk, allowing himself the unseen outlet of curling his fingers as he waited, tense. 

"No, I don't need to come in," Jim replied quickly. "I just wanted to let you know since Pike won't budge on this for some stupid reason, I'm asking one of the Admirals to assign me a new advisor. So you'll be rid of me pretty soon, okay?"

Spock rose at once, only distantly acknowledging the scraping sound of the straight-backed metal chair just before it toppled to the floor with a clang. "I do not understand your insistence on doing so," he gritted out. He leaned forward on the knuckles of his fists and frowned at Jim. 

"Come on, seriously?" Jim asked. He snorted and went to turn away.

Spock reached his side in a second, shutting the door and placing his hand against the translucent glass so Jim could not easily open it.

Jim exhaled, his blue eyes bright as they met Spock's gaze. His full lips parted ever so slightly as the moment of silence continued. He had not yet let go of the old-fashioned door knob. 

"I do not wish for you to --" Spock tried to explain. He stopped, attempting to compose himself. Again, it seemed obvious to him Jim must take on no other advisor. Yet as he automatically began to weigh potential responses to this circumstance, he internally observed his present reaction had the least rational support. How had he fixed himself so firmly to this position, given his typically appropriate separation of work and emotional matters?

When had Jim become an emotional matter for Spock?

"Say you weren't advising me," Jim said. "Would it be easier to -- would you maybe want to try ..." 

Spock's heart leapt in his side at the quiet proposal. When at Pike's gathering Jim first suggested he would seek another to counsel him, some part of Spock had seethed at the idea Jim would forcibly distance them. That rankled more than the attending implication that because of their recent intimacies Spock might not conduct himself with propriety. But now Jim's halting words indicated Jim actually wished to provide them with the chance to pursue a personal relationship. It was not what Spock had determined was fitting, and yet the possibility made something inside him vibrate with intense yearning.

And yet. And yet. Spock reminded himself once again of his personal limitations regarding relationships, all set in place so that he might maintain his professional integrity. He did not wish to abandon that course. Nor was this the only matter concerning him. The more Spock interacted with Jim, the more Spock comprehended Jim's influence made him unstable, unpredictable. In short, spending time with Jim undermined the very Vulcan traits which Spock so valued. 

Spock forced himself to look away. "I do not have to explain to you the multiple reasons why entering into a romantic entanglement would compromise my goals at the present time." 

Jim looked down. "Yeah, Bones said you probably wouldn't go for it." He lifted his hand, presumably to remove Spock's from the door so that he might again attempt to depart.

But before he could do so, Spock caught his fingers quickly, halting Jim's motion. He pushed away the flare of excitement at the thought that they were very nearly kissing in the Vulcan fashion, and tried to direct his attentions to the most salient point Jim had mentioned.

"You refer to your acquaintance, Doctor McCoy?" Spock asked sharply. "You have been discussing our encounters with him?"

"Oh my god, Bones isn't going to tell anyone," Jim said irritably. "Don't worry. Your terrible awful secret that you occasionally get off instead of acting like you have a stick up your ass all the time is safe." He made a jerky gesture, as though he intended to pull himself away from Spock, but a after a beat, he squeezed Spock's hand. Something odd crossed his face before Jim asked intently, "But just how do you know who Bones is, anyway?" 

When Spock did not answer at once, instead taking a deep breath in hopes of regulating his racing pulse, Jim clasped Spock's hand harder. "You're verging on being creepy here, you know," Jim said conversationally. But despite his casual tone (and how exasperating to Spock, to hear Jim sound better composed than Spock at the moment) and his vaguely accusatory words, his posture appeared relaxed, even sensual. Spock's fingers tightened around Jim's hand infinitesimally as he grasped at the last vestiges of his control.

"I -- as I mentioned to you before, my preliminary research looking up the cadets of this entering class --"

"Yeah, you said something like that," Jim said, his voice low. He kept his alluring blue eyes on Spock's for a moment, before he glanced at their hands. 

There was no way Jim could already have known about _ozh'esta_ , the affectionate or passionate meeting of fingers between Vulcan bondmates. But Spock could not entirely restrain his excitement at seeing their hands so closely mimic that significant gesture. He felt his jaw relax slightly, his eyelids become heavier, and his breathing speed up; though he had ample practice at regulating his physical reactions, restraint was the furthest thing from his mind at this moment. 

When Jim lurched forward to kiss him on the mouth, Spock caught him with open arms. They stumbled backward together, and though Spock previously felt only indifference as to the small size of his office, at the moment he found it highly convenient.

"We should not," he forced himself to grit out as Jim swept Spock's shoulder bag and few personal items off his desk. At least his computer was off to the side and affixed to the surface; Spock did not wish to calculate the cost of replacing that item if damaged in their enthusiasms.

"You want to, I know you do," Jim murmured. He pressed Spock backward, clambering atop him when Spock obliged by reclining on the desk. "Just, fuck it, okay? I can't even get my head on straight when you're around, and you know what? I don't fucking care anymore." He punctuated his shaky words with another kiss. In turn, Spock gripped his uniform to yank him into a more convenient alignment, so that their erections could meet through their layers of fabric. 

They would deal with all administrative matters between them at a later point, Spock thought in a daze as Jim straddled him. Jim arched upright for a moment as he quickly unbuttoned his cadet's jacket and flung it behind him. 

Though Spock wanted to pull Jim to him again to achieve the maximum amount of bodily contact, he could not deny the appeal of Jim's positioning now. Jim's hips began to move restlessly, and then with greater purpose when Spock grasped them to encourage that enticing rolling motion. He would readily have continued with this act to completion, but Jim curled over him, brushing kisses over Spock's lips and face as he kept the motions slow and teasing. 

"I want you to fuck me again," Jim whispered.

The flurry of motion to disrobe that followed seemed a blur. Spock attempted to establish some awareness so he might at the very least note where Jim had discarded this or that of their garments. But such cataloguing impulses were far from foremost in his mind. Rather, he fixated on the lovely flush across Jim's chest as Jim finally wrestled off his t-shirt, the wild appearance of Jim's hair as he pulled off that item, the gorgeous sliver of blue iris barely visible as Jim's pupils widened with arousal. 

With Spock's regulation black briefs the last piece of clothing cast aside, they reached maximum exposure of skin.

Spock could not stop himself from greedily running his hands over Jim's body. Though it was tempting to wrap his fingers immediately along Jim's cock where it pressed warm and flushed in the vee between Spock's groin and upper leg, he could not resist squeezing Jim's backside and stroking the tops of his thighs. Even when Jim pointedly pressed his erection against him and rocked, Spock instead first skimmed over his shoulders and massaged the light brown hair and soft skin under Jim's arms with his thumbs until Jim laughed and squirmed and bucked forward with a moan. 

The odd playfulness did not last long, however. Jim's every movement highlighted another group of muscles or stretch of skin Spock had to possess, and the heat between them soon grew to a fever. Spock banished any thought concerning his lack of control as he strained to kiss Jim once more. He refused to consider how the frenetic need for greater contact overrode his ability to manage his responses while he cupped Jim's buttocks in both his hands. 

His thoughts sharpened to a fuller consciousness only when he felt Jim shift to fumble for something and heard the unmistakable sound of a container of lubrication being opened. When he opened his eyes, he saw the condom packet in Jim's hand. 

"You habitually carry these items?" Spock asked. His own voice sounded to him rough and covetous. When Jim gave no answer, Spock caught Jim's hand before it could disappear behind him. "You would have not used them with another." He did not bother to make a question of his demand.

"Going to go all cave Vulcan on me again?" Jim asked. Despite his half-exasperated look, the question sounded coquettish, as if he had no objection to Spock inhabiting whatever barbaric state he had conjured in his imagination. 

Spock offered no answer; instead, he bit Jim's knuckles lightly in turn, watching those spectacular blue eyes as he awaited a reply.

"Okay, so it's just an old habit," Jim answered at last, his gaze intently trained on Spock's mouth. "I wasn't like, on the prowl or something today. Besides, I already told you, I haven't wanted to mess around with anyone else since -- " Jim's golden lashes fluttered when Spock licked between his fingers, and the tendons in his neck stood out as his head tipped back. "Fuck, help me out --"

They grappled with the container of lubrication between the two of them and managed to slick Jim's fingers with due haste. Jim reached back and inhaled sharply at the initial insertion. "And oh, oh, that's -- unh," he breathed out, blinking rapidly up at the ceiling. He shifted his hips and arched, grunting as he pushed back. "I can probably go soon, but --"

"Continue," Spock commanded. Jim grinned down at him even as he sped his motions slightly, adding a second finger perhaps sooner than recommended. 

Spock reached behind Jim to touch his fingers as they slid in and out, and to stroke alongside the tight ring of muscle as those digits disappeared into it. Jim leaned further forward, his eyes closing briefly as a shiver went through him. When Spock added a finger to Jim's efforts with a small amount of twisting, Jim whimpered and tossed his head from the stimulation. 

"I wish to see your eyes on me," Spock demanded, tugging at Jim's nipples to get his full attention.

"You like that, huh?" Jim twisted a little, encouraging Spock's increasingly rapid manipulation of his nipples. "When I'm watching you -- oh!" he broke off abruptly when Spock changed the angle of his finger. He obligingly returned his gaze to meet Spock's.

Yes, this was the optimal arrangement, to watch as Jim's eyes became dazed, as his forehead gained a fine sheen of sweat while he and Spock together stroked their way inside of him, as his gaze swept over Spock's body with discernible hunger. 

"No more," Spock said urgently. "Let us commence the act now." He tugged at Jim's hips to indicate the change in positioning he required. 

"You want me to ride you?" Jim ripped the condom packet open quickly and rolled the item onto Spock's erection. "Good, because I want that too." 

They both moaned as Jim sank down on him. Though their last encounter was satisfying (at least before they exchanged heated words and Jim left him standing alone in the deserted park), this penetration felt exquisite. Being encompassed by Jim, the view of Jim's attractive features in turn tightened with effort and gone slack with pleasure, the quickened breaths as Spock thrust inside, and the way Jim worked his hips as he moved in counterpoint to prolong the maddening drag out and the exhilarating re-entry -- this experience seemed to Spock unsurpassable.

Jim pressed Spock's chest with both of his palms, bracing himself but also obviously intent on gaining some control of the encounter. "Hang on, just," he muttered, re-angling himself until he tightened around Spock, forcing Spock's hips into a juddering snap forward. "There we go," Jim crooned, pleasure evident on his face as he started to ride at a rapid clip.

Spock watched avidly, enthralled beyond his capacity to understand it by every emotive tic of Jim's features, treasuring every small sigh or groan that escaped Jim, fascinated by the sensation of every stretch of muscle and ligament against his own body and hands as Jim hastened the pace, clearly nearing his release.

Unable to resist taking a greater part in the proceedings, Spock drew up his legs so that Jim might lean back, supported by his thighs. Jim cried out wordlessly and immediately took advantage. The bolstering allowed him to bring one hand back to stroke along his own throat and then rub over his chest, thumbing over his own nipples as they moved together. At last, he finally clasped his fingers around his erection and began to pull, matching Spock's thrusting beat for beat.

"Lieutenant Commander?" someone called suddenly from the hallway beyond.

Spock's eyes snapped to Jim's. Jim shook his head slightly, though whether he meant to indicate shock at the potential interruption or signify he could not stop his motions regardless, Spock could not say. In any case, though he bit his lip to muffle his excited exclamations, Jim did not cease to move above Spock, golden skin glowing with sweat as he rolled his pelvis and worked his cock, his expression nearing a state of ecstasy. 

"Lieutenant Commander Spock, I got your message," a woman's voice said. "I have a few minutes before I have to meet with the registrar, so I figured I'd stop by." The old fashioned doorknob rattled slightly as it was grasped and the speaker attempted to turn it. 

Spock felt his heart skip a beat in his side -- had he locked the door? He had only pressed it closed, if he remembered correctly --

But no, the fastening held. He could only conclude he had locked the door without realizing it, a testament to his utter preoccupation with Jim. 

"Unh," Jim breathed out desperately, the soft noise seeming very loud indeed in the hush around them. He steadied himself on one shaking arm and lifted almost entirely off Spock's hard length before dropping back down with a bitten-off cry.

The door knob creaked again as the visitor tried to turn it once more. 

Spock rose halfway on the desk, his hand at the small of Jim's back. For a wrenching second, a look of something like devastation crossed Jim's face, as if he actually thought Spock would attempt to dislodge him in order to accommodate this newcomer. 

But Spock assuaged him with soft sounds and touches, demonstrating as he adjusted his frame how he planned to settle Jim on his lap to continue their activities. He aided the transition by grasping under Jim's armpits, helping to lift him up. As he maneuvered them, Jim sank down again, obviously trusting in Spock's ability to hold him steady.

As if by mutual consent, they muffled their further cries and inevitable vocalizations in a frantic kiss. If there were any additional calls from the corridor, the feral sweep of possessiveness filling Spock drowned them out. He grasped Jim as close as possible as they moved together, wrapping one arm around Jim's waist, and tangling his other hand in Jim's sweat-matted hair. 

By chance, Spock's thumb brushed over the psi point at Jim's temple. 

In that moment, Spock felt utterly certain if he initiated such contact even without explicitly asking Jim he would find himself welcomed and embraced not only in body but in mind. 

The desire to know Jim's thoughts came suddenly, but once the craving surfaced, it increased in exponentially alarming intensity. Spock had never melded with an intimate companion, not even with Vulcan sexual partners who indicated they would welcome the act. But now Spock could sense his katra's readiness to immerse itself in Jim and all that he offered. Simply the anticipation of a meld lit his mind up; he imagined he could see his synapses firing with tangible sparks, all burning to connect him with Jim. 

Somehow Spock forced himself to reposition his fingers. So near the resolution of their passion was an unthinkable time to ask for a meld when his partner knew nothing of what it entailed. Still, he indulged himself by letting the almost-connection he could sense between them propel his pleasure.

Jim obviously knew nothing of the mental intercourse Spock could forge between them, but at that moment he gave a high-pitched cry and tipped his head back, exposing his throat. With every motion, every sound, he epitomized the ravishing submission Spock had always privately thought would be most commodious in a partner whenever he allowed himself to fantasize about the thrilling and terrifying experience of his future Pon Farr.

"You belong to no other," Spock whispered into the joining of Jim's neck and shoulder. He kept his voice so low he could not say whether Jim's inferior human hearing discerned his words. Spock could hear them though and the articulation of his deepest wish at the moment electrified him. When he felt the droplets of Jim's come hit his belly, he made a low sound of satisfaction, thrusting three times more before giving in to his own pleasure.

For several minutes they held one another. Though Jim wrapped his arms around Spock's torso, he remained almost uncharacteristically still, as though awaiting some reaction. By contrast, Spock nuzzled Jim's ear, mouthed at the underside of his jaw, and huffed his contentment against Jim's cheek.

"Okay, so this is weird," Jim mumbled into Spock's neck after nearly six minutes had passed.

Spock stroked down Jim's shoulder blades, caressing the small of his back and running his fingers over the inviting small dimples above Jim's backside. "Though I am no expert in Terran personal communication, I would suggest such an assessment is not an encouraging one to offer after coitus."

Jim snorted. "Fair enough." He nosed at Spock, inhaling, and pressed a kiss against his forehead. Wordlessly, they dispensed with the condom, but they did not break completely away from one another; rather, they shifted so that they were embracing more comfortably on the desk. 

"Well?" Jim asked after a pause. "Is it just me?"

"Elaborate," Spock told him as he palmed Jim's backside and thumbed along his hipbones. 

"You're not going to freak out yet? Or tell me that this isn't appropriate?" 

Spock stilled almost entirely, though he continued to run his hands slowly along Jim's sides, skimming over pleasingly warm flesh. Whatever concerns he had registered during their sexual encounter, they focused primarily on his worrisome yearning to meld with Jim, with only the briefest thoughts for the erstwhile visitor at his office door. His commitment to avoiding relationships with those at Starfleet and more generally had not changed, he thought in distraction. How could that pledge waver when the logic supporting it remained unassailable? Yet his previously stringent concerns felt dulled and distant.

"I am still of the opinion that logically we should not continue," he began. His voice sounded to him ragged, much as an old robe worn to threads in the relentless desert winds of Vulcan. "And yet I find myself unable to issue assurances about the appropriate professional tenor of our relationship as I have done at previous times."

Jim stiffened, but he did not move out of Spock's embrace yet. Instead, he moved his palms along Spock's arms in a light caress. "Hey," he murmured. "You're shaking. You okay?"

Spock opened his mouth to answer and found he could not. 

Jim drew back slightly, his hands gripping Spock's shoulders, and searched Spock's expression. "It's not just -- I kind of have a hard time keeping my hands off you," he began in a stilted fashion. "And don't get me wrong, you're all kinds of hot and it's even harder to hold back knowing how amazing it can be with you, but. That's what I meant was weird. Part of me now feels like I should be glad you're coming around finally. But then I can't help thinking -- this sort of seems like it's really messing with you." Earnest blue eyes met his, and though Spock felt a rush of comfort from the sympathy in Jim's expression, he also felt further destabilized, as though he should pull away at once. 

Instead Spock gave in at least momentarily and wrapped his arms around Jim more tightly. "I find myself in agreement with some aspects of what you say. My control is -- compromised around you. It is as though there is a compulsion --"

He faltered and left his troubled sentiments unfinished. 

Jim watched him carefully, lifting one hand to comb through Spock's mussed hair. "But you don't want there to be," he said at last. "A lack of control, I mean." 

"I mean no offense," Spock said with care. "But for various reasons, continuing sexual interactions with you is not ideal."

"Right." Jim looked to the side, unhappiness written in his features. "I mean, I'm not a total tool. I'm not trying to make you do anything that's going to screw things up for you." 

Spock nodded slowly but did not make a direct reply. 

"Okay, just --" Jim grimaced as he separated himself from Spock's embrace. Spock did his best only to aid Jim's movements and not to take advantage of the opportunity for a series of further caresses. 

As they moved to stand, Jim silently offered his t-shirt as a stopgap method of cleaning themselves. He handed it to Spock first, taking it from him without a word when Spock had used a portion of it to address the matter as best he could, attempting to leave the better part of the fabric for Jim. 

They began to dress. Spock could not entirely resist looking to Jim occasionally, and he was quite sure Jim stole glances in return. 

At least they had not parted with the dramatic upset that ended their last meeting. Yet the odd melancholy now surrounding them seemed to Spock difficult to experience in its own way. Jim apparently wanted to comply with what Spock wanted, even if Spock could no longer vociferously defend or even fully comprehend what he truly wished for. Based on Spock's earlier staunch position, he should feel no little relief, but instead the only reaction he could identify was the sensation of feeling irrationally lost.

"I'll send you -- I don't even know what I'm supposed to send you for all those advising forms, but I'll figure it out," Jim assured him after he had put his now-rumpled uniform back on. It was not fastened precisely, but Spock barely noticed. His powers of observation were too diverted by Jim's appealingly disheveled appearance. 

Though he ought to have conceded at this point Jim's earlier argument that another advisor would be best, Spock instead only replied, "I shall look for them." Spock drew his hands back and clasped them behind his back, lest he find himself fighting the temptation to reach out before Jim could leave.

"So I don't totally get what your thing is, but I can tell you don't, uh, want this?" Jim winced as his voice broke at the crest of the interrogative rise. 

Spock hesitated. "It is likely for the best if we desist," he said slowly. "Perhaps if both of us feel a lack of control around the other, we ought not to meet in person for the time being. I shall attempt to advise you capably via computer and comm messages; such an arrangement can be revisited later should it prove inadequate." 

"Makes sense," Jim said gruffly. "Okay. I'll see you around -- or, you know, not so much. Uh --" He lifted a hand in a gesture that could have been farewell.

Spock forced himself to turn his back so that he would not watch Jim leave.


	7. Chapter 7

Classes began. Jim sent Spock the requisite advising forms in electronic format, and Spock processed them in a timely manner. 

When Spock passed Captain Pike in a busy corridor, Pike called out, "Glad to see the two of you worked things out, Spock," before ambling on. Spock did not hurry to correct him of his misapprehension. 

Spock's other advisees had begun their coursework with the expected range of minor problems, all dealt with accordingly. Several of Spock's colleagues had spoken to him with interest regarding his teaching plans, and had pronounced his methods promising. 

Clearly no observers understood that despite his appearance of seeming capable, Spock felt as though he was slowly disintegrating, turning into a loose assortment of particles and atoms that might upon further strain fly apart and dissolve.

He could not meditate. Surges of anger would thrum through him, leaving him feeling spent and helpless. He misplaced items, lost track of time. Thoughts of Jim and the physical interactions they had shared inhibited his attempts to concentrate on his work. Sleep became elusive as well. 

Self-pleasure did not bring the peace of mind it once had, even though Spock undertook the act more and more frequently. Thoughts of the wisps of bronze hair along Jim's abdomen, the particular taste of his sweat, the image of Jim's face slackening in pleasure -- all of these fueled his obsession and thwarted his focus. In moments of particular distraction, his mind cycled through restless contemplation of Jim's attributes, as though readying himself to compose a lengthy lyric in his praise the style of pre-Reformation poets.

Still, he could imagine to outsiders it seemed he undertook his duties capably. And if he was slightly curt with those he encountered, did not establish much rapport with cadets, and turned down multiple social invitations from his teaching peers, those around him did not remark upon it.

There seemed no one in his vicinity who might discern his increasingly tenuous state of mind and being. Moreover, though Spock could list a variety of acquaintances, there appeared no one in whom he could confide his troubled thoughts. 

Perhaps Jim would have detected the slight outward changes that spoke of greater inner turmoil. It seemed strange to make such a prediction, based as it was on so little data. But Jim had so far seemed to possess an uncanny knack for pinpointing Spock's patterns of thought, even inferring the very subtle level of humor that Spock occasionally employed. 

Of course Spock could not say for certain that Jim would recognize his difficulties, as he studiously avoided meeting Jim. His determination was so thorough that he sometimes made an about-face on campus whenever he sighted a blond male cadet in his vicinity. Certainly those individuals might not have been Jim in reality, but the risk felt too great.

And yet in his weaker moments, Spock convinced himself seeing Jim for only a moment would lend immense relief to his overwrought system. If he could only speak with Jim, even just in passing, then he could perhaps find balance in his impulses and reorder his life capably.

Finally he could bear it no longer. 

The first instance arose out of pure happenstance. Spock passed through the main cafeteria and in doing so walked by a table surrounded by chattering cadets. He spotted Jim on the edges of the group, half listening to the young man at his side, half keeping an eye on an old-fashioned textbook that lay spread before him. 

Their eyes met. Spock gave him an imperceptible nod, turned on his heel, and left the large room.

Jim followed.

Neither of them spoke a word as they approached a deserted classroom marked for renovation. Like Spock's junior faculty office, it had an old-fashioned door-turn, but though locked, it easily gave under Spock's application of strength.

It took only a moment before Spock had the door closed and Jim backed against the wall. Jim gasped as Spock folded to his knees, parted the placket of his trousers, and took him into his mouth. Though feasibly someone nearby might have overheard, Spock discarded concerns of discovery and only experienced fierce satisfaction as Jim cried out. He kept his lips tight around Jim's erection, stabilized Jim's shaking legs so that he would remain upright, and teased a finger over Jim's perineum to increase his pleasure. 

When Jim came, his hips juddered forward, but his hands cradled Spock's head, fingers gentle and trembling while they stroked Spock's hair.

Spock paid no mind to his own arousal, instead standing to obtain an optimal view of Jim's disheveled appearance and somewhat shocked expression. "Cadet," he said in a low voice before he gathered his hat, smoothed his uniform, and left the room.

That night, Spock slept better than he had for some time. 

In the morning, however, he awoke with the seemingly rational plan that he should find Jim Kirk immediately and convince him to embark upon other sexual encounters as soon as was mutually convenient. He strode to his apartment door in order to put forth this proposal at once before he fully realized his partial state of undress. 

Of course as soon as he attained greater awareness he resisted that compulsion, instead turning his attention to the day of teaching and meetings and personal research he had planned. Several times throughout the day, however he was obliged to force his focus back to matters at hand rather than let his thoughts devolve once again to the swell of Jim's backside. 

He felt increasingly restless and agitated, a condition so rare for him that it filled him with growing alarm. Still in a state of preoccupation that evening, he chose to turn his steps to the main science library, not trusting himself to go home to work on his research. 

Rather than occupying a table in the general reading room, he made his way to a quiet corner deep in the collection's stacks of data cartridges. For a time, he was able to gather his thoughts and read through several essays his students had submitted. 

At a soft exhalation from another person in the room, Spock did not follow his customary practice of ignoring irrelevant sounds and looked up sharply. There stood Jim, seeming stunned to find Spock here -- as well he might be, for Spock knew the area was rarely traversed by the general student body or faculty. 

It was unlikely another would enter to disturb them. Spock stood at once, pushing back his chair with a heavy scrape, and advanced upon Jim. 

Jim clutched a shoulder bag, staring at Spock like a hungry sehlat who had unexpectedly stumbled upon an abundance of plomeek plants. "Spock, I --" he began faintly. He cleared his throat and said, "Lieutenant Commander --"

"Speak no further," Spock told him, his voice low. He crowded Jim against the stacks, immediately threading his fingers through silky hair. He dreamed of that texture now, not just in the snatches of sleep he so rarely managed of late, but at inconvenient moments like meeting with a student or listening to senior colleagues speaking at unnecessary length about subjects close to their research interests.

"Spock, you said this wasn't -- you said you didn't want to -- oh hell." Jim swallowed hard as Spock relieved him of his bag and caught Jim's wrists in one hand before kissing him ferociously. 

Words in Golic poetry, written in a vein espousing a wild and effusive embrace of passion, streamed through Spock's mind as he tasted Jim's mouth. "I find I can think of nothing but you," Spock said when Jim hit his head against the stacks with a _thunk_ to take a ragged breath. It was not entirely accurate, obviously; his brain was able to focus on other matters for very short durations. But the point at which his thoughts would consist only of Jim seemed very close at hand. 

He dropped Jim's wrists so that he might cup his jaw and continue their kiss.

"Do you want to go --" Jim began when Spock pulled away slightly. But Spock cut him off once more, covering Jim's lovely mouth with his hand while he sucked kiss after kiss along the fine column of Jim's neck.

When Jim half-turned his head and caught the tips of Spock's first two fingers in his mouth, flickering his tongue over them, Spock growled and shoved harder against him. There seemed not a moment to spare for disrobing. And as that clever tongue slipped over his fingers, Spock felt completely transported, the sort of experience he had read described by early Earth astronauts, when they looked from the tiny windows of their small space crafts and viewed the deep darkness of the galaxy lit only by stars.

It was how they came, rutting against one another fully clothed, Jim desperately sucking on Spock's fingers, Spock muffling a cry that he could not suppress against Jim's now-bruised neck. 

After the shudders working through them slowed and stopped, their breathing gradually regulated. 

Jim let out a broken sound when Spock brushed their mouths together. 

When he attempted to start the inevitable conversation that must follow, Spock found he could not form words in Standard. The shape of that language seemed too harsh in his mouth. Instead he murmured Vulcan endearments in Jim's ear while he skimmed his palms along his torso. He meant the phrases to soothe them both. Judging by the slightly confused but tender expression Jim wore when he drew back, he had to some extent succeeded.

Jim's personal communicator went off in his pocket. Jim did not at first answer, still gazing in some perplexity at Spock, but it soon sounded again. When Jim finally dug it out with an apologetic look, it once again signaled a message. 

"Fuck!" Jim glanced at the information it presented and ran his fingers through his hair. "Listen, sorry, but I've got to meet Bones."

Spock's eyes narrowed, focusing on the device in Jim's hand. He nearly snatched at the thing to crush it, so great was his indignation at McCoy's gall in interrupting them.

"Earlier I said I would find him around this time. And now if I don't show, he'll come looking for me, and then --" Jim grabbed his bag, obviously doing his best to position it to hide the state of his trousers. 

Before he left Jim paused, looking disoriented and as if there were several ideas he wished to express. But then he rushed away without speaking.

Spock frowned, his lips pressed together tightly. He should not care if some portion of Jim's emotions were invested in his friendship with McCoy. He should not care to this increasingly uncomfortable extent about Jim, full stop. And yet...

The other times Spock had achieved release with Jim, he had gained a type of temporary calm. Now a dark haze permeated his mind as he ruminated on the exact nature of Jim's relationship with the doctor. There seemed no actual evidence that Doctor McCoy was a contender for Jim's affections. Nonetheless, Jim's fondness for his roommate was plain. 

Perhaps he ought to remind McCoy that the parameters for his attachment to Jim must only include gestures of friendship. He recalled during their liaison in his office that Jim had spoken of McCoy's awareness of Spock's sexual encounters with Jim. That Jim's classmate knew of Spock's resulting attempts to avoid Jim's company might act as a beacon encouraging McCoy to attempt his own acts of physical intimacy --

Spock let go of the metal compartment holding the rows of data cartridges nearest him. During his reflections he had unconsciously twisted one shelf into a harsh angle, causing several cartridges to spill out onto the floor.

The only way to distract himself from such furious thoughts, Spock determined as he hurriedly righted the items he had disturbed, was to turn his mind again to Jim. Such a course went against Spock's continued attempts not to think of Jim deliberately. Yet his somewhat violent impulses regarding Leonard McCoy were obviously inappropriate. Therefore, it made sense Spock temporarily allow himself free rein to use erotic reflections of Jim as an aid to achieving peace of mind.

So it was that Spock abandoned all thoughts of research, gathered his items and returned to his apartment. That night he showered and pleasured himself to thoughts of Jim -- attempted to slumber and pleasured himself to thoughts of Jim -- and then woke too early in the middle of his sleep cycle and forced himself to tidy and scrub portions of his apartment as a way to expend energy usefully. Very few of his tasks were accomplished, however, before he deserted his housework to return to his bed and pleasure himself to thoughts of Jim.

He knew he fell asleep only by virtue of the fact that he jerked awake, already half in a panic, well after he should have risen. 

Unthinkable, inconceivable, he told himself in shock as he rushed to ready himself. He very seldom required an alarm. But his normally controlled functions now seemed increasingly disturbed.

He trudged off to campus. Once there, he offered apologies to a student for missing a meeting he himself had scheduled. The student was all forgiveness, claiming she had welcomed the unexpected free time to study. To Spock, however, the error seemed quite troubling; such lapses were accumulating, their pattern a potential herald of graver incidents of forgetfulness and disorder to come. 

In between teaching his classes Spock attempted to spend his time productively, yet he accomplished little. His head felt fogged, his focus nearly nonexistent. After three times reading a simple memorandum without retaining any of its messages he suddenly recalled the tales of magical spells one of his human cousins had found entertaining when they were children. During their visits Spock had dismissed such irrational accounts, but his mother forbade him to express his views after he reduced his older cousin to tears with his refusal to believe in supernatural events. 

But now as Spock's eyes moved restlessly over the various cadets rushing from class to class, searching for a particular light-haired blue-eyed student to no avail, he wondered whether he had indeed been bewitched. Without his consent it seemed a transformation had somehow begun, turning him into a feral being he did not recognize -- a creature possessing no logic, no sense of order, and no restraint. 

Several times that day when others on campus walked too close to him, instead of merely ceding the path he warned them off with a low snarl. After the third such incident (ending in the passers-by darting away quickly) Spock locked himself in his office, his chest heaving, and did not leave until he had gained a modicum of composure. 

He counted himself fortunate that he had recovered some of his typical equanimity in time for his allotted time at the science laboratories. But not thirty minutes after embarking upon his data analysis for the day, his head began to buzz. Try as he might to concentrate on the results of his experiments, he could not focus upon the work at hand. All he could seem to do was press his fingertips uselessly to the sides of his skull, trying to block out the discomfort. He departed without completing his reserved time.

He walked out to the campus green, his head spinning with feverish thoughts about proceeding to the lecture hall where Jim currently attended class. Spock at this point knew Jim's schedule as readily as if it had been his own -- perhaps even better than he knew his own, considering his current state of distraction. 

After all, Jim's exceptional aptitude for academic pursuits meant many would not deem his attendance necessary for every class meeting. Normally Spock would counsel such a gifted student to attend regardless, so that the cadet might bolster his own expertise and enhance the educational experience for his peers. But Spock's state alone seemed to argue for the exception. His need for Jim, increasing exponentially as it had been, was by now nearly overpowering. 

The scenario unfolded in his head as if it was a stage play at which he was both audience member and performer. 

He would stand at the classroom entrance and beckon Jim. Though the instructor would likely experience human irritation at the interruption, she would indeed release Jim from the lecture without question if Spock requested it. 

As soon as Jim crossed the threshold, a look of confusion on his handsome face, Spock would take him by the arm to lead him away. "Spock, what the hell?" Jim might demand, his voice incredulous. Perhaps he would stumble for a moment as he tugged mutinously back on Spock's grip. But Spock would not allow him to fall, for Spock would keep Jim safe always.

And now the action in Spock's vision became like a holofilm Spock had once seen, in which the characters arrived at the next suitable location without any evidence of the journey. He and Jim would reach Spock's apartment mere steps later, having dispensed with the limitations and logic of the waking world.

There, Jim would no doubt await Spock's explanation that would clarify their haste. 

But what would that explanation be? Spock was uncertain if he himself possessed a rational justification. He knew only that his thoughts were consumed by Jim, that every pulse in his veins and breath in his lungs now were in service to the sole goal of possessing Jim utterly -- his body, his affections, his thoughts, and his soul. He pictured himself backing Jim toward the bedroom as he kissed him hungrily, locking him away from all others, keeping him safe, keeping him wholly Spock's. 

Spock stopped himself at the edge of a large shade tree, standing at parade rest for a moment as he attempted to settle his riotous thoughts. Of course he could not carry out such a fantasy. It perplexed him he had entertained the wild vision in the first place. 

He forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly, counting twenty full breaths in all. When his rate of respiration finally calmed, he placed a hand on a tree branch to steady himself. 

Nearby, a couple sat on a bench, holding hands as they studied together. One of the women kept her eyes on her reading even as she brought their joined hands to her lips, absently kissing her partner's knuckles.

The two women looked up in alarm as the branch nearest to Spock cracked audibly under the pressure of his agitation. 

What if Jim were to participate in a similar interaction with anyone other than himself? Spock had denied their affinity for too long, had risked too much. He had to reach Jim as quickly as possible -- taking him from his lecture was the only logical choice -- to save time, he would charge inside and demand Jim accompany him without explanation. For what explanation was owed when Jim already belonged to Spock? 

The ground moved beneath his feet, faster and faster. At last his sprint brought him close to the structure housing Jim's classroom. 

Ten more strides to the building's entrance -- nine -- eight -- when someone nearby seized his shoulders and growled out, "Oh, no you don't. We're going to have ourselves a little talk. Now, we can do it here where everyone can see, or we can do it somewhere more private."

Spock turned to find that Jim's close friend, Doctor Leonard McCoy, had happened upon him while Spock had been unaware of his surroundings. How had he failed to register the rudimentary presence of another in his immediate environs? What manner of Vulcan had he become?

Some surprise must have registered on Spock's face, for McCoy looked taken aback for a moment. A second later, however, his features resumed his customary scowl. "Let's go," he barked.

He stalked off, leaving Spock to follow. 

Spock accompanied him as if in a dream, but predatory intent soon overtook him. Now was his chance to eliminate a competitor. If Jim chose anyone over Spock, it would not be this man. Spock would fight him, pin him to the ground, snap his neck --

"This should do," McCoy muttered. He had stopped in a small recess between buildings, and at the moment his back was turned. 

A roar in Spock's ears told him to challenge McCoy immediately. He had the advantage. He would use an elaborate series of _Suus Mahna_ maneuvers to disarm his enemy, until a weapon could be found to end him.

McCoy turned and frowned at him, his arms crossed over his chest. "Hey! You paying attention?"

Spock halted his dark speculations and stared. At first he thought his vision had gone red with his fury, redder than the sands of Vulcan. But with agonizing concentration he brought the blur swimming before him into focus to see the red cadet uniform McCoy wore. 

With great effort he nodded in answer to the question, keeping his impulse to fight McCoy barely in check.

"Now, you listen to me, and you listen good," McCoy declared. "You're not behaving like any Vulcan I've ever heard of. But I don't care what the hell's going on with _you_. My concern's with Jim. You're screwing with his focus, treating him like he's some kind of toy -- and I won't stand for it."

"I am not," Spock said harshly. He cleared his throat. "He is not a toy to me," he said, compelling his voice to sound even.

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "As near as I can make out, that's a big fat lie. He finally came clean about what's been happening lately with all your little spontaneous sessions, and as far as I'm concerned, you've given him every mixed signal there is. Even if this kind of relationship isn't strictly against Starfleet's rules, there's got to be action to take against an instructor who abuses his power this way --"

"You will not interfere," Spock said at once. His blood felt like ice in his veins. 

"The hell I won't!" McCoy blustered. "You can't just fool around with him whenever you please and then tell him to back off again and again! You're forcing him into something that's unhealthy!"

Spock felt a vicious smile spread across his face. "I assure you, there is no force involved. The pursuit of pleasure in this case is entirely mutual."

McCoy froze, but it was not with the fear Spock intended to provoke with his wild words. Instead, his anger appeared to dissipate all at once, replaced with clinical focus. Hazel-green eyes scanned Spock's person intently, observing and assessing.

"God, look at you. You're a complete mess," McCoy said at last, sounding as if he was shocked by whatever brief reckoning he had made. 

Spock bared his teeth more obviously. He clenched his fists, ready to perform the utmost damage he could employ to this competitor. 

"Okay, you know what, maybe I am a little interested in whatever the hell is going on with you," McCoy allowed. He retrieved some kind of scanner from his pocket and began using it.

"I have not authorized you to examine me," Spock said. "Though you may be licensed as a medical doctor, you are a cadet at this institution, and I will not stand for --"

"Yeah, yeah, just hang on a sec," McCoy snapped, checking the readings. 

Spock should object further, he knew. But instead he sagged against the wall close by, letting the building take some of his weight. He could overcome this man easily. On the other hand, he felt increasingly febrile and compromised in physical strength. 

"Okay, so, I know you aren't supposed to register at the same levels as humans," McCoy said half to himself as he frowned at his device. "But even without my Xenobiology notes in front of me, I can tell you that these readings are off the chart for Vulcans." His shrewd gaze flicked up to Spock's face. "Something's very wrong with you, Lieutenant Commander."

Unexpectedly, an immense wave of relief rushed over Spock. True, a portion of him still clamored to dispute anything this potential interloper told him. But the greater part of him, the part discomfited for days by defects in his thoughts and behaviors, felt dizzy with gratitude. 

"Now, it seems to me there's a connection between your damn un-Vulcan like behavior and these strange readings. Is there anyone in medical who would know for sure?" McCoy asked him. "Someone you've already seen a time or two, who's aware of specific health concerns for Vulcans?"

Spock shook his head. "The professionals here understand the basic fundamentals of Vulcan wellness. But there are no experts currently on the campus to consult about such...aberrant behavior as mine."

"At least you admit you're acting awfully peculiar," McCoy said with a scoff. When he glanced back up at Spock his mouth tightened and he put away his scanner quickly. "Okay, so I've got a classmate a year ahead of me, Doctor M'Benga, who trained on Vulcan not too long ago. If there's no one who already has a jump on your situation, I'd like to run a few things by him. I need your express permission, though."

"Yes," Spock said hoarsely. "Whatever it is -- whomever you feel can help -- yes."

"We probably ought to get in touch with the Vulcan consulate as well," McCoy said as he rapidly punched out a message on his communicator. "See if they've got healers who can pitch in. You good with that?"

Spock slumped more obviously against the wall. "Consider yourself in possession of my consent." 

"Oh goody," McCoy muttered. But he looked focused and competent as he completed his message and closed his communicator. 

Spock began to shut his eyes on the sight, feeling unaccountably reassured by McCoy's gruff manner. 

"You know, maybe I'd like to tell Jim a little about this too," McCoy said. His voice sounded unusual, as if there was an echo effect. "I won't if you don't want me to. In any case, I'd only give him the bare minimum of what's happening. I know he's not technically...connected to you. But from what I've seen, he's pretty involved already."

The earth beneath Spock's feet seemed to tremble, and distantly Spock wondered if it was seismic activity beginning in the area that had made him so unsteady. Belatedly he processed McCoy's words, and though the broader meaning eluded him, he clung to one of them as a lifeline. "Jim," he repeated gruffly. 

"Aww, hell," he heard in a grumpy voice as the world went dark around him.


	8. Chapter 8

"You are not exactly light as a feather, I'll have you know," was the first thing Spock heard when he opened his eyes.

He squinted into bright lights and immediately sat up. "Vulcan body mass is greater than that of a human's --"

"Steady, now," McCoy told him. He helped Spock retain his seated position, propping something behind his back. "And yeah, yeah, I know all about your Vulcan mass. I dragged your dense carcass here all by myself."

"What --" Spock started to ask. "Where --" He gripped the sides of what seemed to be a biobed. 

An older man peered into the room, and Spock jerked back slightly in alarm. 

"My mentor, Doctor Boyce," McCoy said gruffly. He waved the other man inside. Spock barely noticed the new physician's commander braids, instead tensing himself in case he needed to move away from this as yet unknown situation quickly.

"Lieutenant Commander, we're glad you've regained consciousness," Boyce said. His voice was entirely inoffensive, though Spock could not quell the instinct to mistrust him. As there seemed no factual basis for this impulse, however, Spock attempted to listen attentively rather than strategize an escape route. 

"Though I'll be overseeing, Doctor McCoy will be taking point on this case," Boyce went on. "He's been doing an admirable job so far with your care."

Spock's gaze returned to McCoy, who regarded him intently. 

"Also consulting is Doctor Geoffrey M'Benga, who Doctor McCoy tells me he mentioned already. You'll meet him when he returns with some of the initial test results."

"M'Benga," Spock repeated dully. He half-collapsed back on the bed, partially covering his eyes with his forearm to block out the room's harsh glare. "I have heard the name from Doctor McCoy, yes."

"Wasn't sure how much you'd recall from that conversation," McCoy said. He noted something on a PADD with a stylus. 

Boyce pulled his communicator from a pocket and frowned at the screen. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I won't be but a moment."

As the older doctor stepped out, the germane facts of Spock's previous interaction with McCoy filtered quickly into his brain. Spock sat bolt upright once more, scanning the room. His hand shot out and fisted the material of McCoy's medical tunic, dragging him closer to the bed. "Jim?" he asked, unable to keep a frantic demanding note from his voice.

"Keep a hold of yourself, grabby! He's right outside, down the hallway," McCoy complained. He shook Spock off and retreated a short distance away to finish inputting his observations. 

"He is here?" Spock asked. He craned his neck to try and view the corridor beyond, but the door to his small private room was now closed.

"Sure is." McCoy narrowed his eyes. "You can even see him in a while. But definitely not until I'm done talking to you and getting a few more samples. And if you try to go nuts on me again, the whole deal's off." 

The door slid open once more, and McCoy nodded to a young man uniformed in a blue nurse's tunic who stood hovering at the entrance. "Nurse Chaudhry? Those other samples we discussed?" 

Spock took no notice of the nurse at his tasks, his mind fixated on the fact that Jim was just steps away. 

He ought to question McCoy further on the doctor's claims that Spock had done something untoward. If he had in fact "gone nuts," was this before or after he had passed out? Indeed, why had he lost consciousness at all? And why did he feel so feverish? 

All the inquiries he might have articulated, however, faded to nothing at his recollection that Jim was somewhere close. Despite his suspicions regarding his location and his caretakers, Spock had felt in greater control of his reactions upon waking. But it appeared the respite had only been temporary. Now that he knew Jim was near, Spock could feel a thrum of want rising once more. 

"I apologize for the interruption," Boyce said as he returned again. The door shut behind him and Spock eyed the area. He would have to plot and maneuver to get past these persons keeping him hostage and find his way to Jim immediately.

"Doctor Boyce," McCoy murmured, his expressive face turned to the readouts indicating Spock's condition. "We're getting those drastic drops and upsurges again."

"We can't give him anything more at the moment; not with his levels the way they are," Boyce said.

The door began to slide open once again. At the mere sound of it Spock's heart thumped hard in his side. _Jim_ \-- but no, the face that appeared belonged to a stranger. Though younger than McCoy, he likewise wore the training tunic of an already licensed medical doctor completing Starfleet officer training.

M'Benga met Spock's eyes. He held up his hand, offering the ta'al.

The surprise at seeing the Vulcan greeting distracted Spock, and he automatically presented the gesture in return. "Doctor M'Benga, I presume," he said a moment later.

"It's Stanley and Livingstone all over again in here," McCoy commented.

"Lieutenant Commander," Doctor M'Benga said with a nod before Spock could press McCoy to explain his reference. "I understand Doctors McCoy and Boyce would have filled you in on the essentials of your case."

"Only that they have run tests and await results regarding what sound to be abnormal levels. I assume they wish to examine the evidence in connection with some of my recent atypical behavior."

M'Benga regarded the other two professionals. "Gentlemen, I'd like to speak to Mister Spock alone for a minute, if I might."

McCoy bristled. "Geoff, if this concerns his treatment, I should be here too --"

"Trust me, Len, I plan to share all the relevant details about his case with you. But I think Mister Spock deserves a little privacy on the matter first." M'Benga's eyes flickered to Boyce, who looked thoughtful before nodding.

"It's all right by me, so long as we ultimately get the pertinent information for our records."

McCoy threw his hands up in the air, clearly exasperated. "Fine! I'll be back in ten. And don't try anything," he warned Spock. "I saw the look in your eyes a minute ago! No trying to sneak out of here."

"Len," M'Benga said mildly.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," McCoy grumbled. He stalked off, followed by Boyce at a more sedate pace.

At the mere mention of possible escape, Spock's mind had begun to work at a faster clip. Certainly he had acknowledged the need for flight before this juncture. But now his brain proposed various specific scenarios by which he might overcome his captors. With only one individual remaining in the room, Spock's gaze shifted to the tray table to the left of his bed. If swung with great force, the impact of such an object would undoubtedly disable M'Benga temporarily -- providing time for Spock to reconfigure the door release mechanism, sprint into the hall, locate Jim, and -- 

"Mind if I sit?" M'Benga asked. He indicated a chair in the corner. 

Spock jerked his attention away from his potential weapon back to the man at his side. The memory of M'Benga offering the ta'al returned to his mind -- that achingly familiar signal of home. 

With a tilt of his head, Spock indicated assent.

M'Benga shifted the chair to the side of Spock's biobed and settled in, a PADD on his lap. After a brief pause he began, "Please know I am aware Pon Farr is something Vulcans do not generally discuss with outsiders --"

Before he knew it, Spock was on his feet, the various monitoring devices strapped to his body ripped away, and advancing on M'Benga.

"What the hell," McCoy roared, running back into the room. A security personnel member accompanied him. "I thought his numbers were crazy before, but they just went berserk!" 

"It's all right, Doctor McCoy," M'Benga told him. He motioned for the guard still lingering watchfully to stand down. The man remained in the doorway, however, regarding Spock with wary alertness. 

"Like hell it is!" McCoy gestured impatiently at the indicators. "Any more rapid changes and he'll go into shock! And you," he shouted, pointing at Spock. "Are we going to have to restrain you?"

Spock mustered the control to shake his head. 

McCoy scowled, but after a pause he dismissed the guard. He reattached the various apparatuses back to Spock roughly, obviously not willing to brook any refusal. 

"May I continue, Mister Spock?" M'Benga asked once all the measuring equipment was again in place.

Spock looked to McCoy, waiting for him to depart once more, but the doctor only crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, indicating his intention to remain. At least no one objected when Spock sat on the edge of the biobed rather than returning to his reclining position. 

"We do not speak of these things to outworlders," Spock said at last. His fists curled so tightly he could feel the edges of his nails cut into his palm. The pain focused him slightly. 

"I understand your reticence," M'Benga said. "But we need to determine how best to treat you. And unfortunately, this information appears essential to your care."

Some of Spock's tension drained away as he kept his focus on M'Benga's calm expression. But what the doctor was suggesting left him bewildered. "No, it is not...not my time yet. Nor should it be for several years."

"Well, but Pon --" At Spock's involuntarily growl, M'Benga cleared his throat and began again. "The condition under discussion is a matter of biology." 

Spock stared at M'Benga for several moments. It was only when he sensed McCoy shifting where he stood that Spock recognized the ongoing delay in his reply. "Obviously, it is a matter of Vulcan biology."

"Well, I'm sure your research has shown you how naturally occurring biological processes can sometimes be triggered by other events. A great deal of stress in the system, high levels of adrenaline or sudden increase in corresponding glandular functions, some incident causing an extreme degree of trauma for the subject..."

Spock swayed where he sat. M'Benga's calm and rational approach to the matter appealed to Spock's own better capabilities. He could feel his mind churning, attempting to work at its normal pace. But a fog had descended over it, making all paths to logical deductions shadowy and unpassable. Still, he struggled to gather his thoughts, and finally pronounced, "There has never been any indication one's time takes place due to situations of duress, biological or psychological." 

"Well, it's not terribly common," M'Benga admitted. "On Vulcan, with its well-established practices of meditation and emotional control, not to mention systems in place to promote betrothals and bondings, it's almost unheard of. But for those stationed on other planets for a lengthy time, or for Vulcans who have chosen to make their home elsewhere, well. There have been enough cases to discern a pattern." 

_For those stationed on other planets_ repeated in a loop in Spock's consciousness until the words began to beat a rapid tattoo in his veins. He tried to push his rising panic away. Such a theory had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with what occurred on Cataclys -- he had performed capably, and handled all related matters with aplomb. Numerous official Starfleet reports regarding that mission and its unfortunate discoveries confirmed this.

M'Benga called up a file and scanned it. "With what happened during your assignment to the Farragut, for example." He lowered his PADD and watched Spock. "If I may say so, Mister Spock, I grieve with thee."

Blood pounded in Spock's head, and he could not form an appropriate reply. He fought to keep his hands from covering his ears, instead gripping his thighs tightly to keep still. 

"Encountering the unexpected deaths of a sizeable group of Vulcans on Cataclys," M'Benga went on quietly. "The difficulty in facing that dramatic loss of life -- I must say, the shock of a tragic ordeal like that would be a prime candidate for a triggering event." 

"You suggest Pon Farr symptoms have been activated by my --" Spock cleared his throat. "My distress, in relationship to the happenings of that mission. Yet I have managed my reactions capably. I needed no grant of additional time to process the events."

"I have no doubt you acquitted yourself well," M'Benga said. "And yet here we are. Everything we're getting from these bio readings indicates that you've begun a kind of pseudo Pon Farr."

"It is impossible," Spock said stubbornly. It was becoming harder by the second for him to breathe steadily. "Pon Farr sets in quickly. It does not merely distract the individual but assaults the reason of the one suffering it."

M'Benga nodded, though obviously not in agreement with Spock's assessment. "It's progressing at a slower pace at the moment; you're right about that. Yet wouldn't you agree your concentration has lessened dramatically, your temper has become excessively short, and your sexual arousal has intensified greatly?"

Spock could deny none of these things; therefore, he remained silent.

M'Benga watched Spock. "All your symptoms will increase in rate and intensity if we let this go on unchecked. My theory is that because this is not the actual experience of Pon Farr, we might be able to get control of it through a combination of appropriate medications and Vulcan healing techniques."

"No," Spock said thickly. "It cannot be. My circumstances have continued for weeks, not days. And sexual congress has not satisfied the condition." If anything, the multiple bouts of coitus had only fueled his desire for more erotic interactions with Jim. "Another explanation must be found."

"Damn it, Spock, M'Benga's theory is all we have to go on right now," McCoy put in furiously. "If you're not going to accept this Pon-whatever for yourself, think about what all this is doing to Jim."

"Jim?" M'Benga asked. He exchanged a glance with McCoy. "Spock, may I ask if you've undertaken a bond with someone?"

"There is no bond," Spock managed to force out. His skull shot through with pain and he could no longer keep himself from pressing two fingers to his right temple. 

"He'll need more medication, and quick," McCoy told M'Benga urgently.

"Remember what Doctor Boyce said. We can't administer anything else until we have more answers," M'Benga replied at once.

"Some of the victims on Cataclys affected a similar pose," Spock said to himself.

Both men turned to look at him. 

"What was that?" McCoy asked.

"Their fingers here," Spock clarified, brushing his fingertips to the psi points at the sides of the head. Though he touched himself lightly, he felt the pain increasing, a tangible thing thudding through his cranium to send waves of distress to any beings sensitive enough to discern it. "Such gestures were, of course, illogical. The sufferers could not halt the progress of the parasite that attacked their central nervous systems, causing rapid degeneration and horrendous pain."

M'Benga's lips parted slightly, while McCoy's eyes widened. "Was that detail in the CMO's report?" McCoy asked.

"The significance would be lost on non-Vulcanoids," Spock said distantly. His voice sounded as though it was reaching his ears him only after passing through a viscous barrier. 

"What would the significance be?" M'Benga asked. 

Spock stared at M'Benga, but with the waves of torment pushing through his nervous system, the image before his eyes blurred. The pale cream walls of the small hospital room darkened and narrowed until they gave way to the Farragut's steel blue corridors.

As soon as their ship had entered Cataclys's orbit, Captain Coutinho had granted Spock's request to join the first landing party. "I can't think of anyone who deserves to hear about the T'Marek expedition's findings more than you, Mister Spock," Coutinho had commented genially as he waved Spock onto the transporter platform to join the rest of the team. 

Spock had felt no misapprehension upon beaming down. Though Communications had been unable to establish contact when the Farragut drew close to Cataclys, the expedition leader had submitted an unremarkable check-in to the Federation only days before. Even without advance notice to the scientists on planet, there was no doubt someone would greet them soon after landing. And yet that had not been the case. 

"Spock?" McCoy broke in. 

"The significance," Spock repeated dully as he came back to awareness. The pain was no longer retreating and returning, but had taken up a steady, excruciating residence in his brain. He gave up pressing two fingers to his skull, instead gripping the side of his head. "I myself observed the bodies curled up, each of the members of the expedition dead at their various stations or in the process of conducting various personal tasks. A number of the deceased had their hands arranged thusly, as if attempting to soothe themselves." He dragged his gaze upward to find the doctors staring at him. Their features swam before his eyes. "For a Vulcan customarily disinclined to exhibit any signs of discomfort, such a gesture indicates the extremely high degree of agony their minds registered."

"Holy hell," McCoy muttered. "All of them just --" He cut himself off with a shake of his head. 

"Their data was of course recovered," Spock observed. He felt he had to pry his teeth apart in order to speak, so they would not grit in futile fortification against the ever-increasing debilitating spasms in his head. "They kept scrupulous records of their findings."

"Who cares about the data?" McCoy demanded. "Surely even an emotionally stunted Vulcan like you would see that it's the people lost that mattered, not the facts and figures!"

"While in quarantine, I meticulously reported on the extent to which the VSA and the scientific community at large would feel the grave loss of those expedition members," Spock cut in sharply. The surges of pain came rapid-fire now, drumming against every nerve until Spock felt the pounding would shatter him. "Do you think I held their lives in contempt?" 

McCoy's jaw went tight, but he met Spock's eyes squarely and said, "No, Mister Spock. I don't. I apologize."

"Hope it's all right to return," Doctor Boyce called as he joined them again, a stack of PADDs under his arm. "I know we're still gathering information and discussing options. But based on Doctors McCoy and M'Benga's preliminary thoughts and my review of the initial test results, I think it would be best to admit the Vulcan healer immediately. Assuming we already have the Lieutenant Commander's permission, of course."

"She arrived very quickly," M'Benga said with some surprise. 

Boyce nodded. "Apparently your private message to the Vulcan consulate resulted in expediting McCoy's earlier request. From what I understand, Healer Vraang is the official consultant on such matters on earth. I'd like to hear her perspective as soon as possible."

The words penetrated Spock's consciousness only in truncated phrases. He glanced behind Boyce, where moments before the corridor beyond had become briefly visible. There was something he must reach outside of this room, someone absolutely essential -- _Jim_ , he supplied internally as he continued to stare. 

Would Jim be seated on the other side of the room, waiting for approval to enter? Or would Spock have to turn down corridor after corridor in order to locate him? Or might the hospital staff have forced Jim to leave by now, unheeding of how absolutely vital it was for Spock to reach him? Spock growled low, out of range of human hearing.

"I'm all for it," McCoy agreed, his shrewd eyes trained on Spock. 

"I agree," M'Benga said. "But I do think we ought to discuss having additional medication at the ready. Presumably Healer Vraang will alleviate Mister Spock's distress as soon as possible, but if that can't be accomplished immediately through her mind techniques, I'd like to administer more pain blockers."

Spock carefully lowered his hand from his head and eyed Boyce, noting his positioning in front of the doorway. Surely none of them expected such a block against his escape effective against Spock's superior Vulcan strength. He shifted his gaze, regarding the others in the room with suspicion. 

He forced himself to close his eyes so that he might reassess his situation. If he rose up now, when the others perceived him weak, even three men could not best him in a surprise struggle. He would wait another forty-five seconds, and then --

Boyce gave a grudging nod. "All right, doctor, but we won't administer anything more without Healer Vraang's agreement." He turned to Spock. "Normally I wouldn't discuss such matters in front of patients. But we're all aware of your scientific expertise, and I wouldn't wish to be anything less than transparent about our plan for your health." 

Spock shot him a startled look, his eyes darting to take in Boyce's concerned expression before scanning the others. Whenever McCoy and M'Benga looked up from their PADDs or away from the medical instrument readings, they regarded him sympathetically. None of them betrayed any indication that they were concerned with anything other than his care. 

"Spock, I understand it's hard to focus at the moment, but we need to get your express permission right now to let that healer get a look at you," McCoy growled at him. 

"Very well." Spock steepled his fingers, lowering his head as he internally grasped for at the last vestiges of his control. He had to speak loudly to hear himself over the roaring in his head. "You have my permission." 

M'Benga's lips moved briefly, but the sounds that emerged seemed to Spock indecipherable. When M'Benga looked to Boyce in concern, Spock snapped his gaze back to the door. If he was to escape, now was the time -- but no, that was not the logical response to the situation. He needed to consider the solicitude of the others, needed to remember his own compromised state. He needed -- he needed --

"Bones, seriously, you can't make me wait any longer!" The door once again slid open, this time at last revealing Jim, his uniform poorly fastened and rumpled. He glanced at the biobed and his jaw slackened as he took in Spock's appearance. "Spock, fucking hell, are you okay? I came as soon as I got Bones's crazy cryptic message, but they wouldn't let me in. And now there's some Vulcan woman out there giving me the stink eye, so when the nurse came over to talk to her, I --" 

Jim took a step toward Spock, but Boyce's sharp, "Cadet!" stopped him in his tracks. 

"Who are you, and what are you doing in this room?" Boyce demanded. 

"I'm Cadet James Kirk, sir." Jim stood at attention but his eyes remained on Spock. He appeared to regard the reply as answer to both of Boyce's questions, for he offered no other explanation. 

"Jim, what are you doing -- get the hell out of here," McCoy urged him. 

"Doctor McCoy," Boyce snapped as he turned to regard his protégé. "I have to question whether you've violated privacy protocols in contacting this cadet about the Lieutenant Commander's health. My understanding, from Doctor M'Benga's recommendation, was that all of this must be conducted with strict confidentiality."

McCoy's lips thinned, and he seemed to bite his cheek in order not to reply back to his mentor's admonition. "Yes, sir," he acknowledged, his voice gruff. 

"I'm sorry, sir," Jim said. "It's not Bones's -- Doctor McCoy's fault. It's just that Spock and I --" He looked to Spock and stopped uncertainly.

Spock kept his gaze riveted on Jim; he swore he could feel the blood in his veins work faster at the sight of him. He needed to smell his skin, to dart his tongue along Jim's abdomen, to bite at his belly and part his thighs --

But why had Jim hesitated when he spoke? Was Jim denying him? Was there another?

Fury slammed into Spock with such force that he could scarcely keep from leaping off the biobed to stake his claim. 

Yet seconds later a horrifying thought dawned -- had it not been _Spock_ who had warned Jim they must not tell anyone, Spock himself who declared they should cease their physical and increasingly emotional involvement? The obvious but painful recognition made him reel even as he sat. He had actually wanted Jim to stay away from him -- but how had Spock desired something so wrong? In what egregiously erroneous evaluation of the situation had he ever wanted Jim to be anything but _his_?

Boyce sighed. "Is there in fact an official relationship between you and our patient that would make communication of his medical state appropriate? I see nothing on his medical files."

"Spock?" Jim asked, his voice steady despite the distraught look in his eyes. 

"I have been remiss," Spock said in a choked voice. "Jim, ashayam, you must forgive me."

Jim's apprehensive expression quickly gave way to determination as he turned to face Boyce. 

"Commander Boyce, I apologize," he said firmly. "I accept full responsibility, so you shouldn't fault Doctor McCoy for my breach of regulations. But I'm here now, and I think Spock pretty much needs me here, okay?"

"Jim, we don't know whether that's true," McCoy said urgently, evidently unable to keep from speaking out. "You might make things worse." He took a step forward in Jim's direction.

"No!" Spock roared. He moved swiftly, pushed past M'Benga, knocking him down with a clatter -- M'Benga's PADD hit the floor, skidding across it -- avoided Boyce's abortive grab for him, and reached Jim. He immediately shoved Jim behind him, keeping him safe from McCoy, from all the others.

"Stay where you are, Len," M'Benga called softly. "You too, Doctor Boyce."

"Jesus H. Christ," Bones intoned, lifting his gaze to the room's ceiling. But he remained where he stood, halting his advances on Jim. 

"Spock, please listen to me. You need to step away from Cadet Kirk," M'Benga said. His voice remained calm, but there was now the slightest strain to the words.

"No," Spock told him, his voice low and dangerous.

"How did this Cadet even get access to this wing?" Boyce asked in frustration. "He shouldn't have been able to get past the security we have in place." He appeared to consider stepping toward Spock, but held up his hands in surrender when Spock let out a warning sound.

"Spock, it's okay," Jim said, muffled behind Spock, nearly crowded up against the window of the hospital room. 

"None of them will touch you," Spock swore, glaring at all of the interlopers who would come between him and his -- his --

"Hey, I promise, it's going to be fine," Jim murmured, his breath warm against the nape of Spock's neck. "If that's what you want, no one's going to come near me but you." 

As if by prearranged signal, M'Benga and the others backed away slightly, though they remained in the room. Spock, finding the other inhabitants of the vicinity seemingly cowed by his display of possession, grudgingly allowed Jim to inch out from behind him and come close to his side. 

"This is most irregular," Boyce told M'Benga under his breath, but as he made no move to challenge Spock, Spock ignored his unnecessary complaint. 

"They will not take you away from me," Spock whispered to Jim, gathering him close. "You belong by my side, especially now." 

"Okay, I'll be right here with you. You've got my word -- I'm not going anywhere." Jim swallowed as he met Spock's gaze, his blue eyes bright and clear. He wound his arms around Spock's waist, squeezing there momentarily before sliding his hands up and down Spock's back with a soothing rhythm. With a shaky sigh, he leaned back against the window once more, and Spock willingly followed to maintain their closeness. 

"We're all just here to help," McCoy said cautiously from somewhere behind them, though he left off trying to speak when Spock made an inarticulate snarl.

"Shut up, Bones," Jim ordered him softly.

"Fine, not like I've got a degree saying I know what's what or anything," McCoy muttered. "Guess Jim's in charge now." 

"Look at me," Jim said firmly to Spock. He shifted, taking Spock's face gently in his hands, bringing their gazes together with the change in position. "That's right." 

Spock nodded, his breath coming faster now. Dimly he saw the blue of the sky beyond Jim, but that was not his concern. He could feel the heat sweeping through his body, his whole system ablaze, and here, the only one that could assuage him, Jim, his -- his _mate_. He could not hold off much longer.

"Eyes on me," Jim told him. "Breathe in. Let it out. Okay. Good." 

Spock kept focus, his eyes taking in Jim's concerned face, those shining eyes, the soft lips, and he felt a fierce rush of gladness, that his mate was so pleasing, so focused entirely on Spock -- the others were jealous, would try to interfere, but Spock would not let them, and Jim was a good mate, would grant Spock what he wished, as he had done at every point until now, as he would for the rest of their union. 

"You will be mine utterly," Spock told him. Spock lifted his hand to touch Jim's temple, splaying his fingers in the customary position. He had never performed this act before with a sexual partner, and the anticipation of it filled him with a fierce delight.

Still, within him there was a voice, distant but adamant, saying that no, he must not do this. He could not take this sort of possession of Jim's mind, not without Jim's complete understanding and acceptance, not when there was so much left unsettled between them. Yet without joining their minds, without Jim by his side, how would Spock survive? 

Spock shook his head and forced the dissent from his own mind with a wrenching ache that fueled the spikes of pain reverberating through his head. He must act now. "My mind to your mind," he intoned.

Jim watched him, tense and wary. For a second his eyes flickered over Spock's shoulder and his lips parted. 

In an instant, Spock realized his error. 

A sharp prick entered his neck, and he howled in protest. Betrayal flashed through him as he slumped against Jim, but Jim's soft, "Oh my god," told him that his mate had not been the engineer of this perfidy. 

"Just fucking wait a second, okay?" Jim said harshly when someone else tried to lay a hand on Spock. He hugged Spock, and as he spoke, his voice deepened, the words slurring. "I'm sorry, Spock, I'm so sorry. I won't let anything bad happen to you." 

And then all was darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

"Jim," Spock heard himself pronounce as he struggled up to consciousness.

"Thought you'd be asking for him," McCoy's voice said casually. The words sounded hollow, as if they were in a vast chamber. 

"Jim," Spock said more insistently, forcing his eyes open. He attempted to raise himself on his forearms, trying to overcome the blanket of exhaustion spreading over him. 

Medical, he was in the Medical Building, he told himself as he gained greater awareness of his surroundings, in the same small room he had found himself in earlier. And judging from the sensations coursing through him, someone had recently administered more medications to advance further enervation --

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. It's all about Jim," McCoy told him. But despite the scoffing words, his voice sounded gentle.

Spock attempted to answer, but cognizance left him once more. 

The next time Spock awoke, M'Benga stood over him. 

"The Vulcan healer performed two separate therapeutic melds while you were in a light trance," M'Benga said when he recognized Spock's waking state. 

"Healer...Vraang."

M'Benga nodded. "I asked her to remain until you gained consciousness. But she said it was unnecessary, that stability had already returned to your mind."

"Logical," Spock said hoarsely.

"Fortunately, whatever Healer Vraang did helped settle your adrenal functions," M'Benga went on. He glanced up at the bio-reader and took out a PADD that presumably held other results regarding Spock's health. "Your levels are returning to normal. We won't need to give you any more injections if everything proceeds according to the pattern we're now observing." 

As he listened, Spock inhaled and exhaled, feeling full sensation return to his limbs. By the second time he breathed out, M'Benga's words had filtered into his mind and ordered themselves as they customarily would have. Spock felt relief extend through him so acutely that he had to close his eyes momentarily. 

"My perceptive faculties have increased greatly," Spock said a moment later. 

"Good, good." M'Benga made a note on his PADD before slipping the stylus irrationally behind his ear rather than in the slot provided for it alongside the PADD itself. "If we can get the levels we want to see from you in a few hours, we might actually be able to release you today. That is, if you feel comfortable with that."

Spock moved to sit up, nodding his thanks when M'Benga helped to adjust the biobed to allow his repositioning. "There is no concern of a potential relapse?" 

M'Benga gave him a small smile. "None that we have determined. The fact that you would ask such a question now speaks volumes about how much better established your control is at present. Just hours ago you couldn't even conceive that there was something wrong."

"Yet there was something gravely wrong," Spock said. "The -- Pon Farr?" 

"Was indeed, according to Healer Vraang, a precipitous reaction to stress and trauma rather than the onset of your actual time." 

"I see." 

"We're very lucky that your symptoms responded to a combination of Vulcan healing and traditional Terran medical methods." M'Benga glanced one last time at Spock's readings. "Either I or Doctor McCoy will be back in about thirty minutes to check on you again. Meanwhile, you can contact one of the nurses should you need anything."

He made it to the door before Spock called out, "Doctor?"

"Yes?" M'Benga turned. 

"The other cases -- I believe you mentioned similar occurrences to mine? I would appreciate hearing how those instances resolved." 

M'Benga regarded him for a moment. "Well, the sources are not entirely forthright. But as best as I have been able to gather, some of those suffering were aided by Vulcan Healers who helped them reestablish their control." 

"And the others?"

"A few cases -- very few -- appear to have ended in death."

Spock felt his heartbeat speed, but for the first time in weeks, he was almost certain he gave no outward indication of his disquiet. "So without healers, there would have been no hope."

"I can't confirm that, actually," M'Benga said slowly. "From what some of the records imply, I believe there were a small number of victims who had no access to healers, yet managed to halt the onset of their symptoms by enacting a bond."

"A bond?" Spock repeated sharply.

"Yes," M'Benga affirmed. "As you have likely already gathered based on some of the statements you gave, sexual satisfaction alone would not have been a solution. But as near as I can make out, when those Vulcans dealing with pseudo Pon Farr sought out a specific partner, someone whose mind promised a particular affinity to their own, a bond between that pair could spontaneously resolve the suffering." 

Spock's hands twitched almost imperceptibly. He remembered now, his fingers on Jim's psi points, the sheer urgency thrumming in him to consummate the connection between their minds. 

"Keep in mind that the extreme outcomes are no longer a concern for you," M'Benga hastened to add. "Thanks to Healer Vraang's efforts and Doctor McCoy's quick thinking in getting you in here in the first place, Doctors Boyce and McCoy and I feel certain your recovery is nearly complete. You've almost returned to full health, and you shouldn't need further intervention from a Healer, though you are of course welcome to consult with her should you feel it prudent in the future. Additionally, with the crisis passed, it's unnecessary for you to bond -- at least at the present time, of course." 

"Of course," Spock said after a pause. "Thank you, Doctor."

When the doctor again reached the threshold, Spock asked, "And...Cadet Kirk?"

"Well," M'Benga said. "I'm sure the two of you will have a great deal to talk about, Lieutenant Commander." 

The door slid shut behind M'Benga, leaving Spock on his own amid the hum of surrounding medical apparatuses in the sterile environment of the hospital room.

****************

At the end of the day Spock was indeed pronounced fit to depart the campus hospital. Doctor McCoy at first blustered that Spock ought not to travel back to his apartment alone. As a concession Spock arranged for a taxi cab, and thereby secured his release.

After trying and failing to engage Spock in idle conversation, the taxi's driver hummed tunelessly as she maneuvered through the familiar streets, past the city's well-known landmarks and by various Starfleet monuments. 

Spock touched the tips of his fingers to the glass of the cab window as the vehicle traveled through another intersection. Not far from this location was the small park where he and Jim had met and fought after Pike's dinner party. Two streets over, a passage to the highway could be traversed in order to arrive at the club where Spock had first met Jim. And should his transport reverse its course, they would once again approach Starfleet's main campus to reach Spock's office, and the location of another frantic assignation with Jim. Indeed, once on campus, every turn would bring Spock to a place where he had either encountered Jim, thought of Jim, longed for Jim -- 

He pulled his hand away, settling it in his lap in a more decorous position, and sat fully upright. M'Benga's words from their last extended meeting threaded through his mind in piecemeal phrases. 

_Sought out a specific partner._

_Someone whose mind promised a particular affinity to their own._

_A bond between that pair could spontaneously resolve the suffering._

_A bond_. Spock's left hand gripped his right tightly, and he stared down at them as the tips of his knuckles went white. Spock had never imagined he would have any but the typical Vulcan bond, embarked upon mainly for reasons of necessity and with only the most basic elements of similarity shared by the two participants. Why would he hope for more, when he well knew that the majority of those bonds were ultimately deemed satisfactory to those involved?

Finding a natural abundance of compatibility with a bonded partner was seldom expected and almost never enjoyed. Certainly Spock had never entertained thoughts of discovering such like-mindedness. 

If Spock had indeed happened upon such an exceptional affinity with Jim, that was a rare gift indeed. A small thread of longing flickered within him. To discover a mate with whom mental joining could prove as satisfying and exhilarating as their sexual one -- it would not merely provide a welcome addition to Spock's life, but could enhance it immeasurably. 

It was of course quite rational that a potential connection like that be pursued as soon as possible. 

"We will reach our destination 2.08 minutes faster if you turn at the upcoming street," Spock said aloud, leaning forward to point out the route to the driver.

****************

Spock methodically re-checked the computer messages on his Academy account and again scrolled through those on his personal communicator.

There were no messages from Jim. 

The absence of such missives held little import, Spock told himself. He walked across the length of the living room and adjusted his lute, placed as always in the same position on its customary stand. 

Given that the best predictor of future behavior was past behavior, rather than utilizing the communications system, Jim would most likely seek out Spock in person to convey any thoughts on their current situation. Additionally, Jim very probably supposed Spock was still recovering from his recent health issues at Starfleet Medical. It seemed doubtful McCoy would have already relayed Spock's current whereabouts to Jim, given the doctor's overall skepticism about their interactions.

Logically, therefore, Spock ought to contact Jim first, to clarify any misunderstandings about the duration of Spock's hospital stay, and to indicate they might soon engage in a discussion face-to-face. 

Yet Spock hesitated. The lack of correspondence from Jim might in fact result from another reason. Of course Spock had by now regained a thorough recall of what had occurred during their last encounter. And inevitably, his review of those actions prompted him to wonder: could Jim's current silence stem from a negative reaction to Spock's recent frantic and forceful behavior? 

After all, Spock had menaced the others, pulled Jim to him like a possession he coveted, and acted increasingly aggressive by anyone's estimation. It seemed quite probable that Spock's brutal conduct would have raised questions in Jim's mind about the appropriateness of pursuing a relationship beyond that point. 

Spock thumbed over one of the lute's strings, sounding out a single mournful note.

He forced himself to turn away from the instrument. Theorizing would garner him no additional evidence. He should contact Jim immediately and speak directly to him thereafter about what might exist between them.

Therefore, he composed a brief message and sent it off before he could contemplate the exact wording to distraction.

****************

By 2335 hours, Spock acknowledged it was possible he would not receive a message from Jim that night.

He prolonged his late evening routine by meditating for seventeen minutes longer than usual. Such additional time could obviously be ascribed to his satisfaction of being able to meditate adequately at last. Yet doing so had also provided him with an excuse to delay sleep in order to check one last time if Jim had contacted him. 

After extinguishing the incense and storing his meditation mat, Spock consulted the message functions on his various devices. Jim had still not responded. 

The appropriate course was for Spock to put the matter from his mind, retire for the evening, and anticipate a reply the following day. 

Before he settled into bed, Spock crossed the room. Once at the bureau he did not bother to dissemble regarding his intentions. Given his resolve to recognize and explore his prospective connection to Jim, there seemed little point in denying his purpose.

Immediately, he located Jim's boxer briefs. He brought the garment to his face and inhaled deeply. Merely seeing and handling the garment, even void as it now was of Jim's alluring scent, sent a buzz along his spine and a shiver through his body. He could still summon the taste of Jim from that first night, the feel of his bare skin in the park, the enticing heat he gave off in the data stacks of the library.

How had Spock ever denied this memento's significance, the way it exposed his obvious urge for romantic and sexual intimacy with Jim even following their earliest meeting? He squeezed the soft fabric in his hand, telling himself to relinquish it to its habitual place in his drawer. 

Thirty seconds later, Spock drew the covers back on the side of the bed he typically left unoccupied and slipped the pair of Jim's boxer briefs underneath them. That accomplished, he reclined as he did customarily. Obviously sleep was suitable and even necessary, as he was to some degree still recovering from the disruptions to his adrenal system. So though he continued to feel restive, he forced himself to remain prone, eyes closed, awaiting the onset of slumber. 

Had he descended into unconsciousness soon after lying down as he typically did, he might have missed the soft knock on his front door.

Spock sat bolt upright and levered himself to his feet. He strode quickly through the other rooms to reach his apartment's threshold, and pressed the door release without inquiring who might be on the other side.

When he saw only an empty corridor, he frowned. Then he heard a muted sound, footsteps shushing on carpet, quickly fading away. He discerned their direction and sprinted down the hallway.

"Jim," he called out when he saw the wisps of blond hair barely visible around a corner. 

"Oh. Hey." Jim halted and turned. When Spock reached him, he smiled tightly. "I was just -- you know, in the neighborhood, so, um." He looked around him and exhaled before assuming a somewhat contrite expression. "So I don't think I'm technically supposed to know where you live. Uh. Sorry?" 

"It is no matter," Spock told him firmly. "I welcome your presence here."

Jim squinted at him. "Huh. I thought you were going to read me the riot act for going against regs or hacking into the -- not that I hacked anything," he added hastily. 

Spock tilted his head to the side. They would have to review Jim's involuntary admission of culpability some other time. "There are more pertinent matters to discuss -- for instance, our previously agreed-upon but often ineffectual decision to avoid one another."

Spock meant his introduction of the topic as a transition to explain why his own views regarding this policy of evasion had changed. But before he could continue, Jim's gaze dropped to the floor, and his face flushed. 

When Jim looked up again a second later, he had assumed a careless expression despite the lingering color on his cheeks. "Okay. You're totally right. Obviously this was a mistake, heading over here. I'll just take off and leave you alone."

"I do not agree with that proposed outcome," Spock put in. "There is more to say before you leave." His voice increased in volume more than was technically necessary.

"Fine, you want me to grovel first? I'm sorry again I bugged you here, and so late at night, too," Jim continued sharply. "That was super inconsiderate of me, and I suck." He spread his hands out in a placating gesture, but contrary to his conciliatory posture and seemingly apologetic words, his expression had turned stormy. 

" _Jim_ ," Spock broke in, attempting to curtail his own frustration.

Jim huffed out an exasperated breath. "But obviously now I'll just be on my way, so you don't need to get all upset or --" 

The door to a nearby unit slid open, and that apartment's resident looked out with a scowl. 

"Hey! Can't you two keep it down?" he demanded. "It's very late!"

"I was just going," Jim said quickly.

"No, you were not," Spock told him. 

Jim laughed tightly. "Nope, I really was."

"Clearly you planned to summon me to the door and converse with me when you arrived. It is illogical to depart without having done so conclusively."

Jim ran his fingers through his hair and tugged slightly as if in vexation. "A guy can change his mind, you know." 

Spock glanced at his still-observing neighbor, who continued to glare at them both. 

"Please accompany me back to my apartment," he told Jim as calmly as he was able. He positioned himself to block out their spectator and indicated behind him to the path they would need to take. 

"No need for that," Jim said. "I'll just, uh, make an appointment or something, swing by your office."

When Jim edged toward the direction of the exit Spock did not directly move to intercept him, but he could feel his muscles tense in preparation to do so if necessary. "As you are already present, and I am available for a discussion at this time, it would be advisable to speak now."

Their bystander made a disgruntled noise. "For two guys who think they're not talking, you sure could use some lessons in shutting up." 

"It is not appropriate to pry into the affairs of others," Spock noted severely to his neighbor. 

"Just have your little spat somewhere besides the hallway, all right?" the man snapped irritably before letting his unit's entry point slide shut. 

"I bet that guy wishes he had a door he could slam right now," Jim muttered under his breath.

Spock made no direct reply, instead gesturing again in the direction of his apartment.

Jim sighed, hunching his shoulders and followed the course Spock had indicated without a word. 

When Jim at last walked inside Spock's apartment, furtively peering about him, Spock felt an unexpected frisson of pleasure interrupt his frustration. He had not anticipated experiencing gratification merely at seeing Jim stand amid his few possessions. But it was nonetheless strangely satisfying.

What might it be like if Jim consented to share his quarters with Spock at some later date? Would he intersperse his possessions haphazardly wherever he liked? Or would he place his personal effects next to Spock's own mementoes with care? 

"Nice," Jim said gruffly, as though obliged to comment on the surroundings. 

"May I prepare a beverage for you?" Spock asked formally. "I have several varieties of tea --"

"No, don't put yourself out or anything. The whole reason I came over is I wanted to see if you were okay." Jim looked at Spock's woven wall-hangings, at the incense holder placed on a side table, at the chair where Spock sometimes read for his own edification -- everywhere in the immediate vicinity but at Spock himself. "And you are okay, so. Great." Jim shrugged and glanced back at the door. 

"I am much improved." 

"You do look good," Jim said softly. As if he could not help himself, his gaze now traveled down Spock, over his sleeveless tunic and loose fitting sleep trousers. "I mean, you always look good," he added, quickly looking back up. He swallowed and fixed his eyes once more on the door to the hallway. "I only meant. Just, like you said. Improved."

Spock nodded, unsure where this line of observations might find resolution. "I thank you for your concern." 

Jim's tongue darted out to wet his lips. Spock watched closely, remembering the feel and taste of that soft mouth against his. Immediately he wished to experience those sensations again, a yearning so potent that he might have ascribed it to the pseudo Pon Farr. He knew empirically, however, that his levels had returned to their normal state. 

Jim's eyes snapped up to meet Spock's, and again his cheeks colored. "So. All back to normal, then. Awesome." His voice contained a heartiness that Spock suspected was not entirely genuine. 

"Indeed." 

There was a long pause. 

"Jim," Spock began at the same time that Jim said, "So I guess now that I can see you're all good, I should get out of your hair," and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the point of egress. 

"I have already explained that I wish you to remain," Spock told him. He fought the urge to step closer, to reach out to smooth Jim's unruly hair. To divert either Jim or himself before he had delivered the information regarding their bonding potential would be counterproductive, appealing though the prospect might seem. 

"Listen, you should know I won't hold you to anything," Jim said in a rush. "I get that you weren't big on keeping things going between us in the first place, even before it got intense. And since it turns out the entire thing came from a compulsion with your biological -- I don't know what, exactly, because Bones refuses to tell me the details -- but yeah. Since it wasn't your choice to hook up with me, I completely understand you just want to put everything behind us."

Shocked into silence, Spock stood utterly still. Though he had been unsure how Jim would react to news of their mental compatibility, he had never expected Jim to forestall the topic entirely, suggesting they never speak of their past intimacies again. He attempted to sort through his initial confusion into some semblance of appropriately persuasive thoughts designed to set Jim's mind at ease. 

"Right," Jim said before Spock could speak. His jaw tightened and he turned slightly. "I'll just see myself out."

"You are incorrect," Spock called out as if he were attempting to enunciate words to someone at a great distance away. He would have to speak with greater haste than he had anticipated, not only to tell Jim they were well-suited, but indeed to convince Jim that Spock no longer wished to transmute or end their association. 

"So you don't want to put this all behind us yet?" Jim asked, both eyebrows rising. "Why? Is it because you want to ream me out for taking advantage of you?" 

"Clarify," Spock said at once.

Jim breathed out slowly, looking at some point over Spock's right shoulder. "Okay, scratch how I just said that. You're definitely within your rights to tell me you're upset. What we did -- you didn't really want it, and you couldn't stop yourself." He swallowed and met Spock's gaze. "But I had no idea it was a medical condition, seriously. Otherwise, I would never, ever have --"

"That is also not the direction in which my thoughts tend," Spock cut Jim off. He could no longer keep the annoyance from creeping into his voice. "Cease making misinformed conjectures and listen to what I have to tell you." 

"Okay, fine," Jim told him. He sank down to sit stiffly on the couch. "Just go ahead and let me have it."

Spock nodded and shifted into parade rest, facing Jim as he attempted to determine how best to begin.

"You could at least sit down too," Jim said crossly. 

"Very well." Spock took a seat at the far end of the couch so that he might give Jim sufficient space during his fit of pique. When Spock had explained their situation thoroughly, there would no longer be the need for such distance. "You were given to understand that my conduct was fueled by a biological...malfunction." 

Jim gave him a curt nod. "Yeah, I kind of picked that up."

"Yet presumably no one clarified the impetus for my behaviors," Spock continued.

Jim leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes focused on his joined hands. "Bones said sometimes mitigating factors make a Vulcan act the way you did. He didn't let me in on what those mitigating factors might be, by the way." His eyes flickered to Spock's, and then away again. "But, um. I did a little digging, and tracked down details about the Farragut's last mission."

Spock arched an eyebrow. "Such information is not yet generally available."

"It is if you know where to look," Jim said under his breath. "Anyway," he continued in a normal tone as he straightened slightly, "I don't know all the details, but I got the gist of what went down." 

Spock glanced away, if only because gazing at Jim's troubled expression diverted him from his immediate purpose. "Due to the greater importance of what I wish to convey, we will not address your possession of classified information at this time."

"But you'll probably come down on me like a ton of bricks about it later," Jim suggested sardonically. 

Spock pushed on. "Based on my response to what I witnessed on Cataclys, a chain of reactions occurred, some of which you are personally familiar with, having been a party to them. Yet my experiences while serving on the Farragut do not explain why I was so drawn to you. Neither do those events entirely illuminate why I attempted to...take the measures I nearly did, the last moment we interacted at Starfleet Medical."

Jim frowned, smoothing his hands over his denim jeans. "I'm not following you." 

Spock watched the motion along the fabric clinging to Jim's attractively muscular thighs. No doubt if Spock was still in the midst of his impaired biological state, he would have pushed Jim back on the couch, covered that enticing body with the full weight his own, bitten along the column of Jim's smooth neck while dragging his fingers roughly along the back of --

He forced himself to re-focus, keeping his gaze on Jim's furrowed brow. 

"So what gives?" Jim asked bluntly. 

"When a Vulcan meets an individual with whom he experiences a greater than typical affinity, and the two of them discover their like-mindedness in part through the expression of sexual attraction --"

Jim shot him an incredulous look. "Wait, wait, hold on a second. Are you giving me the Vulcan version of the birds and the bees?"

Spock frowned. "I fail to see what relevance the attributes of apian and avian creatures --"

"I mean a sex talk, Spock," Jim interrupted. "Damn it, you don't need to start at square one. I told you before, I get it! You wouldn't react to me like that normally, and so that's the end of it." He shifted, looking as if he might potentially leap to his feet at any moment. 

"You are still mistaken," Spock said. "Yes, it is true I might not have pursued you to the degree that I did had I not experienced that biological condition. And yet my attraction to you is very real, and still obviously present after my symptoms have resolved." 

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Okay. So what are you saying?"

"Because of that continued desire, and because I can now fully comprehend the strong mental compatibility between us, I propose we now seek to learn all the personal and mutual gains offered by embarking on a romantic relationship."

Jim looked down and in the silence that followed, kept his eyes trained on the floor. 

Spock allowed the pause to stretch out, assuming that Jim would need a few moments to process Spock's change in position. With Jim's head dipped in the subdued light, the faint fuzz of hair down the nape of his neck glinted golden. Spock reflected that during such a moment Jim would presumably not welcome Spock reaching out to trail his fingers along that downy line, nor would he appreciate it if Spock gently thumbed over the knobs of Jim's spine. 

"Spock, I know your memories of the time when you were kind of --" Jim shrugged. "I don't know what to call it."

"Compromised is perhaps the best term," Spock stated.

"Compromised," Jim repeated guardedly. "I can see how you might not have the clearest recollection of what went down then. But even when your symptoms were spurring you on, you knew you didn't want anything like a relationship with me. Like, the very first time at the club, no way did you want to see me again. Later on when you kept me at arm's length, I thought you were being stupidly noble, holding back because I'm a cadet and you're an instructor. And let's face it, a couple of times I figured you were just a tool for treating me like I wasn't worth something longer term. But by the end, you know, even when you were so completely caught up in it, the -- the uh --" Jim paused.

Spock's throat closed, but he managed to say, "Though it is not the precisely correct designation, the closest appellation would be the Pon Farr. I would not share the terminology with others, but you have a right to the words." When Jim looked as if he would speak again, Spock quickly added, "Additionally, though I comprehend your concerns about my previous refusals to consider a continued association between us, you must understand that during that period of time I was not myself." 

Jim nodded slowly. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that. But let's look at the pattern of evidence." He angled toward Spock and continued, an air of strategic assessment infusing his posture and words. "You resisted me at every single turn, turned me down over and over. I mean, here you were, swept up in an unavoidable biological urge telling you to get with me. And you still didn't want me, not really. Even when everything else was getting out of control, that part stayed pretty constant." 

"You misinterpret the events which transpired, and draw erroneous conclusions."

Jim's jaw tightened. "Pretty sure I haven't. Just let me finish, okay?"

Spock said nothing though his muscles tensed in anticipation of whatever else Jim might argue.

"It was only because of a compulsion that you had to keep screwing around with me, you know? And like I said, I didn't mean to take advantage, even though I probably did. And if you think I need to, I'll...turn myself in?" His voice broke slightly on the interrogative rise. "To some kind of ethics panel or whoever at Starfleet deals with stuff like that."

"That will not be necessary," Spock said with no little horror. Obviously the prospect that a committee would review his personal crisis left him aghast. But more than that, the chance that others might judge and denigrate his past intimacies with Jim as illicit evidence -- moments Spock only now understood were to be greatly treasured -- filled him with immense dismay. 

"Yeah, I can see how you might not want that, airing all of --" Jim gave a vague gesture. "I guess I just want to say, I'm willing to face whatever the consequences are." 

"Jim," Spock said desperately, trying to stem his increasing dread in the face of Jim's dour assessment. "I do not hold you responsible for any imagined misdeeds. I experienced a compulsion; that much is true. But you helped me through that predicament. Though you did not know it at the time, you were a partner in the endeavor. In no way did you take advantage of me."

Jim chewed on his lower lip. "I appreciate you saying that, but I can't really see it that way."

"Please listen," Spock requested sharply, attempting to mask his increasingly disheartened reactions. "You must cease this fixation on any invented wrongs, and on my past reluctance. The salient fact remains that with our remarkable affinity, not only should we find success pursuing an emotional relationship, but indeed, we will in all probability establish an extremely satisfying mental bond."

"A bond?" Jim asked in confusion. "Like -- you're talking figuratively, right?"

"Almost never," Spock said. He quelled his urge to rush through the explanation, and instead endeavored to illustrate the context adequately. "On Vulcan, most bond mates form a connection when they are quite young, based on simple commonalities determined by elders who assess them. Such unions fulfill a biological necessity, and those who undertake them expect only a companionship furnished by basic compatibility. But based on my impulses toward you and our interactions even during trying circumstances, I theorize our connection will reach a far greater level of complexity and fulfillment."

The impulse to reach out and take Jim's hand almost overcame Spock, but he knew proceeding was essential at the moment, and so kept himself in check. "Ours is a situation fervently hoped for," he attempted to explain as Jim stared at him, "transcending mere requirement and common camaraderie. I now understand that my frenetic behavior during my affliction -- rather than exposing a failing on my part, or constituting a lamentable situation -- provided a most welcome revelation. My wild impulses unveiled my desire for you, both in mind and body." His fingers twitched slightly, and he took a deep breath and folded his hands together. "Together we have found a most rare opportunity to establish an ideal connection, one that quite likely will bring us great happiness throughout the rest of our lives." He glanced over at Jim, whose eyes had become extremely wide. "Please inform me if you wish to explore this unforeseen but most welcome gift."

"Whoa, whoa," Jim blurted, and as he spoke, he stumbled to his feet. "Are you listening to yourself? A few days ago you wanted me out of your sight, and now you're pretty much _proposing_?"

Spock frowned, watching as Jim turned away slightly and raked his fingers through his hair. "It is not an exact equivalence. But certainly the Terran tradition of establishing civil and romantic unions approaches the gravity of Vulcan bonds. Of course, Vulcans regard their bonds as --"

"I'm not Vulcan," Jim said, his voice rising.

"I understand," Spock told him. It seemed an obvious point, but Spock clearly ought to acknowledge whatever opinions Jim wished to submit as they worked through the details of their bonding. 

"So you've got to understand where I'm coming from here!" Jim gestured in irrational patterns as he spoke. "I've gone from trying to date a guy who keeps telling me to get lost, to having that guy get down on bended knee -- right, I know you're not actually on your knee," Jim said irritably, as though he foresaw a dispute over positioning as Spock's most likely objection. 

"You are angry," Spock noted with care. 

"Wow, you picked up on that?" Jim asked fiercely. "What gave me away?" 

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but Jim quickly continued. "Are we one hundred percent sure you're recovered? Because you wanting to put a ring on my finger right now doesn't seem like the height of Vulcan logic."

Spock glanced at Jim's hand, remembering that yes, many Terran traditions included the use of a ring to indicate a marriage between partners. No such tradition existed on Vulcan, yet the idea of Jim wearing a ring to show his union with Spock seemed surprisingly pleasing. But of course Spock's primary concern was not whether jewelry would be purchased with the intent to display their legally binding romantic merger, but to make Jim grasp a more accurate view of their situation.

"Try to understand," Spock began.

Jim laughed, a bitter, harsh sound. "Look, I'm not actually stupid, so you don't have to treat me like I am."

"I am doing nothing of the sort," Spock said. He could hear the near-tremor in his own voice, a grievous lack of control in a situation during which it was essential he remain calm. He had not anticipated Jim's potential objections, and in this, he had made a grave error. Without question he ought to have considered points of debate for a topic so very important to his emotional needs, to both of their future emotional needs. 

"I should go," Jim said abruptly, heading toward the door.

"Let us make arrangements to speak of this again," Spock said, hurrying after him. Though the words emerged from his mouth in the imperative, he sensed how close he was to pleading outright. Surely he could ultimately convince Jim, but only if Jim granted him the opportunity to attempt it. 

"I understand you may need time," he said when he reached the exit. He clasped his hands behind his back in part to keep himself from reaching out to catch Jim's wrist in his hand. "Should you require a more thorough explanation than I provided you during this conversation, I would be amenable to expanding upon my points at a later date. You may also wish to speak with your choice of confidants in the meantime, and reason through this new information I presented. Indeed, a greater allocation of time before we next address these issues would provide us both with useful considerations to aid our eventual resolution. I can assure you we shall speak of these matters far more productively in the near future." 

Jim's brow furrowed. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. Bones already said --"

White-hot anger spiked in Spock's veins. He managed to press his lips together and compose himself before speaking coolly. "Though I understand McCoy would perhaps wish to dissuade you from further involvement with me to suit his own purposes, I would ask that you keep him at bay for the moment. Might I suggest you choose another acquaintance with whom to rehearse your objections and help you determine the possible advantages to a bond with me?"

"Oh my god, what?" Jim laughed again, this time disbelief ringing through the sound. "Bones does not want to get with me. And stop looking like you're going to take him down with a single stoic blow the next time my back is turned. He's the guy who helped save your life, remember?"

Spock worked to pitch his voice at an acceptably calm level. "In the interests of full disclosure, I should mention that before his involvement in my medical care, McCoy sought me out to tell me to desist interacting with you. Though I admit to his admirable skill in treating me, the logical conclusion for anyone to make in such a case --"

"For the last time, Bones isn't trying to swoop in when your back is turned," Jim snapped. "Cured or not, you should know you sound kind of nuts right now."

"I apologize if I have presented any of my views in such a way as to make you conclude I am not of sound mind," Spock said stiffly. "Allow me to reiterate my willingness to wait to discuss this further, and let us designate another mutually agreeable time during which we may speak of these matters."

Jim shook his head slowly. "You still don't get how going from zero to sixty isn't what anyone would call the obvious next step here, do you? But trust me, because this is for the best, okay? You'll see when everything's completely back to normal." He tried a smile, but it came across his face more like a grimace. "Besides, I can't really talk to anyone the next couple of days. I'm going out of town this weekend, to give myself some time to get my head together."

"Where will you go?" Spock asked desperately. The possibilities of a fruitful bonding with Jim, a prospect that appeared so likely hours ago, seemed now to turn to ashes before his eyes.

"Does it matter?" Jim asked. "Look, you'll see when you step back that you don't want to get involved with someone like me." He attempted another smile, but bleakness flashed through his eyes as he raised them to meet Spock's. "Definitely not for the rest of your life, anyway."

"I disagree emphatically," Spock told him. "Furthermore, even given whatever factor of time you deem appropriate, I can assure you that my opinion of the situation will not change."

"Yeah, well. Neither will mine." Jim paused at the threshold, and deliberately tilted his head at the exit. Though Spock felt the strongest compulsion he had ever experienced to stop Jim, he pressed the release to open the entry point. 

Out in the bright hallway, Jim turned to regard him one last time. "I'll see you later," Jim said, his voice low and rough. "You know, probably." 

The door between them slid shut.


	10. Chapter 10

Spock regarded the closed door for several moments before he walked back to the couch. He sat in the middle with his hands clasped in his lap. All around him was silent. 

With a nearly imperceptible sigh, he let his right hand relax and fall to the cushion. A slight stretch of his smallest finger allowed him to trace the edges of where Jim had sat only minutes ago.

He had not appropriately prepared for a scenario in which Jim would refuse to entertain the very idea of a bond between them. Further, he had in no way readied himself for the possibility that not only his past actions but his current appeals would compel Jim to travel away from him to seek peace of mind.

With the return of the full complement of his mental faculties, it was a simple matter to go over his many failings of that night even as he simultaneously calculated various outcomes likely to ensue following Jim's initial refusal. 

Hours ago Spock had allowed himself to experience a moderate degree of hope about his future with Jim. Now, the likelihood that Jim would agree just to speak to Spock again about their potential bond, much less seriously consider an impending union between them, seemed more and more remote. In fact, given the preponderance of unhappy resolutions, he determined the probability of actually initiating a successful bond between them at a later date at roughly 7.0983%.

He looked about the room without purpose, resting his eyes briefly on his chair, his computer, his lute.

Perhaps one day he might actually establish another bond, he thought dully. Even if a compatible match could not be identified for him on Vulcan, undoubtedly he would find temporarily willing partners when he entered his true Pon Farr. Objectively, the failure of this particular relationship before it had appropriately begun on mutually satisfactory terms did not signal an entirely empty (or even threatened) life. 

But the vitality of Jim's mind, the fierceness of the connection between them, the way Spock's katra had reached to Jim's at that critical moment back at the hospital room... Surely he could never find another like Jim. 

He closed his eyes. In his mind he could see Jim clearly as he had been in the hospital room, blue eyes wide, his appealing, worried face turned to Spock's. He remembered the sight of his own fingertips resting against the soft skin of Jim's temple, his wild excitement anticipating the exact instant when their minds would join.

A moment later he straightened in some alarm. 

Obviously his failings of the night were greater than he had first thought. Not only had he not convinced Jim to consider bonding, but he had committed a grievous negligence in allowing Jim to depart without explaining Spock's near-transgression at Starfleet Medical. Spock had almost performed a meld, would have done so with intent to bond the two of them, in fact, had he not been stopped by one of the medical professionals in the room. Had Jim any idea of the extreme mental encroachment Spock had very nearly perpetrated? 

Should Jim have been willing to consider a bond between them, Spock's wrongdoing would have been mitigated to an extent in view of that later consent. But in light of their current circumstances...

Spock rose and began to walk the length of the room and back again as an outlet for his agitation. That night Jim had spoken of his own culpability. But Spock had nearly forced a bond upon Jim, a bond that he knew now Jim rejected outright. Even if Jim did not wish to speak to Spock again, Spock must make him aware of this severe infraction. Perhaps it was even Spock's responsibility to raise the matter before authorities, as Jim had suggested he himself do in regards to his imagined "taking advantage" of Spock. 

He stopped at the large window in the living room, his thoughts racing as he stared unseeing outside. When would he have an opportunity to introduce the topic of this offence? Not for several days, he thought distractedly as he recalled Jim's announcement upon leaving. He had been so distraught at Jim's refusal to consider the bond that he had not fully processed the information when Jim had announced it. 

A moment earlier that night returned to Spock's mind with sudden clarity: Jim seated upon the couch, shoulders hunched forward, eyes on the floor, before he had explained his beliefs regarding Spock's former rejections. Spock had thought only of reaching out to touch Jim, and so in his selfishness, he had missed the utter despondency of Jim's bearing. In fact, now that Spock went over the interaction, their entire conversation had left Jim miserable and defeated. Meanwhile, Spock had focused primarily on his frustrations with Jim's stubbornness. Whatever his own responses to Jim's reactions, from an objective point of view, Spock could understand it might be advisable for Jim to take time away.

He pictured Jim once again departing, heard that final sentence, _I'll see you later...you know, probably._

Spock suddenly pressed both of his palms to the glass, seeing in the window's reflection his lips parting ever so slightly over this appalling realization. He had not attributed overmuch importance to the precise wording of Jim's farewell, but now he wondered if Jim meant a more final parting than merely the space of a few days. 

What if Jim did not return? Spock inhaled sharply into the silence. That he might never see Jim again was too bleak a thought to process fully. 

He quickly re-examined their conversation. Jim had seemed almost despairing while they spoke, his occasional façades of blustering annoyance and pretended nonchalance barely obscuring his clear unhappiness. And he had ended their meeting by declaring his intentions to leave the area because of the results of their ill-fated involvement.

Could Spock not only have ruined his opportunity to pursue an extremely satisfying bond with Jim, but indeed, have tainted Jim's experience with Starfleet irreparably? 

Spock could feel the impulse rising in him to turn at once and bolt from the apartment, running out in search of wherever Jim might have gone. But he forced himself to remain where he stood and review the relevant facts in order to complete the most thorough assessment of the situation. He had acted thoughtlessly throughout their acquaintance, to Jim's great detriment; he did not wish to risk Jim's well-being further by proceeding recklessly now. 

From the time of their first encounter, Spock had kept Jim's attentions preoccupied, thereby indirectly preventing him from meeting his fellow cadets and from focusing completely on his coursework. He had pressured Jim into repeated situations that ultimately caused Jim to behave unlike himself, according to Doctor McCoy's unguarded observations. And by consistently reiterating his intention to keep himself distant from Jim even as he demonstrated by his actions that he regarded Jim as a source of sexual convenience, Spock had made Jim feel used. No, he corrected himself sternly -- he _had_ used Jim, physically, emotionally, and very nearly mentally. 

There was no other conclusion. Spock had done terrible harm by entangling Jim in a circumstance that could potentially jeopardize Jim's prospects, not just his scholarship but his future in the stars. Jim demonstrated great promise, and to abandon his career as a result of distancing himself physically from Spock would be a significant mistake for Jim personally and for Starfleet as an organization.

Spock mechanically turned away from the window, allowing it to support his weight to a small degree as he reviewed the situation. No doubt it would cause Spock consternation if he and Jim were in the future compelled to serve on the same starship, or even on the same command team. The anguish he might experience in their close proximity would be considerable. Having Jim nearby, knowing they might have enjoyed a sublime connection had Spock handled their circumstances differently, would cause him enormous distress.

Yet how far preferable than the termination of their contact would it be to see glimpses of Jim on occasion, to know of his welfare, to be privy to the advancements he would inevitably make in his career! Such satisfactory outcomes would be impossible should Jim pursue some other path. 

All indicators predicted Spock would never bond with Jim. But at least he could watch with approval as Jim proceeded and advanced in his work, perhaps could even lend his support or guidance in years to come, should Jim no longer find Spock's presence hindered his comfort.

The thought of a shared future of sorts, in which they worked alongside one another aboard the same ship, civil colleagues rather than a bonded couple, sent through him a surge of bittersweet emotions. Such a pale imitation of what they might have enjoyed! And yet still, better than the prospect of the days without Jim that lay ahead of him. 

Obviously he must prevent Jim from leaving campus. 

Creating an impediment to Jim's leave would serve a twofold purpose. First, Spock could explain to Jim his shameful near-initiation of the meld. In doing so, Spock would exercise his responsibility to inform Jim. Additionally, he also would grant Jim the ability to understand that Spock had been the participant who had seriously risked Jim's consent, not the reverse. Second, in detaining Jim, Spock would serve both Jim and Starfleet as a whole, keeping Jim from making a rash choice that might impact his future in serving the Federation. 

Though Spock counted himself quite familiar with the rules and regulations dictating appropriate conduct for cadets, he quickly crossed to his desk in order to find the official relevant passages to confirm his recollections. 

He found the pertinent information on his PADD almost immediately.

> _Leaving Starfleet grounds is forbidden to first-term cadets until the mid-point of their initial semester's coursework, unless they possess a special exemption granted by an advisor._

Spock's fingers tightened around the device. As Jim's advisor, Spock could obviously furnish a dispensation were the reason fitting, such as a family emergency or an urgent medical issue. Clearly he had not done so. That must mean the permission came from another faculty member in a position of authority over Jim, one who had the prerogative to grant exceptional leave-takings.

Spock immediately discarded his PADD and summoned the appropriate database program on his computer so that he might inspect the weekend leave permissions. 

He sat back slightly in his desk chair in surprise. The name of the approver was indicated, as it should be, on the appropriate line: _Captain Christopher Pike_.

After he navigated through to the electronic form Pike had submitted, Spock stared at the computer, even though doing so would not deliver an explanation for Pike's consent. Indeed, he could quite literally see no rationale for the endorsement -- Pike had provided no justification for Jim's upcoming absence, though a designated space on the form allowed for elaboration upon the mitigating circumstances. 

Spock would never presume to suggest Captain Pike would act out of anything but concern for the well-being of a cadet, particularly one for whom he had expressed particular regard. Therefore, if in fact Pike could be made to understand his decision might ultimately undermine Jim's future success, would Pike not agree at once that a specially-granted leave was inadvisable, and retract his permission for Jim?

Spock at once retrieved a sweater from his bedroom and slipped his communicator and appropriate identification into his pocket. A moment later he paced out into the hallway while yanking on a non-regulation jacket.

After he crossed two intersections and traveled several additional city blocks, he acknowledged he was indeed headed in the direction of Pike's apartment. 

Such a visit was highly inappropriate, of course; not only because of the lateness of the hour and the ill-advised choice to visit Pike's home when he had not been invited, but because Pike's approval clearly superseded Spock's, and therefore did not require Spock's input however much Spock felt compelled to provide it. 

As a car sped around a corner, Spock's thoughts turned from Pike's likely displeasure at greeting Spock to the issue of when and how Jim would depart. Would Jim take official Starfleet transport, or arrange his own method of conveyance? If the latter, which of the various hubs for travel might he be located at?

Spock tapped his fingertip twice against the communicator in his pocket while he waited at the crossing. Technically, he reminded himself, according to the official form Jim's leave had already begun. Though Jim had visited Spock's apartment building rather late, the time of evening did not preclude a scenario in which Jim departed that night.

Spock waited only another moment before proceeding across the street without the benefit of the light indicating his right of way. 

Jim's imminent departure and Pike's surprise at Spock's visit were not the only factors for consideration. What had Jim communicated to Pike to convey such urgency in his request for time away? Would Pike by now know of their erotic involvement? 

Spock circumvented a vehicle blocking his way, seeing before him not the dark gleam of damp pavement but the blank rationale line at is appeared on the electronic leave form. Was its lack of elucidation a courtesy, a deliberate absence strategically concealing Pike's knowledge of Spock's sexual encounters with Jim?

Without a doubt, what had happened between Jim and Spock was in a broad sense not a violation of any Starfleet protocol. Spock's own criteria limiting how he conducted relationships had always adhered to a far stricter standard than Starfleet's own. Yet Spock's indecorous behavior with Jim while concomitantly serving as Jim's advisor could certainly come under question. Pike, who obviously harbored a special concern for Jim, might well regard their physical relationship and Spock's emotional manipulations of Jim as distasteful, even ethically untenable.

And yet Spock's driving motivations, even as he examined them multiple times on his journey, were not self-involved. He recognized and then discarded as currently irrelevant the potential damage this situation might do to his career. He could feel only a growing anxiety for Jim's part in whatever would unfold next. 

When he finally reached Pike's building, he halted. An uncharacteristic stillness blanketed the normally busy residential area. He reached for his communicator in his pocket to affirm the current time: 0158 hours. He paused, glancing around him at the darkened windows, the light rain that had begun to fall, and the quiet hum of occasional pre-dawn traffic.

Would an urgent message to Pike, one that availed itself of Starfleet's communication system's highest grade of alert, have better expressed Spock's worries regarding Jim's future? If so, such a realization would of course have better served Spock before he had departed his apartment in such haste. 

"Hey there," Pike's voice called amiably from the building's second story. "Taking a late night stroll for your health, Mister Spock?"

"Indeed not," Spock answered with some surprise. He took several steps backward as he looked up. 

Pike was leaning out the window casually, looking both calm and curious, as if it he tended to conduct conversations at this hour with junior faculty members lingering on sidewalks as a matter of course. He took a sip from a small glass, which at this distance seemed to contain an amber liquid. "Well, come on up, Spock, before the neighbors start to gossip," he said good-naturedly. 

A buzzer sounded. Spock stepped forward to open the now-unlocked entrance door and climbed the stairs to Pike's unit. 

"Please be aware: I realize I am remiss in approaching your living quarters at this time of night," Spock said immediately upon walking past the apartment door Pike had left ajar. "I ought to have contacted you first to request a meeting at an hour more acceptable for conducting conversations."

Pike examined him for a moment, taking one last sip of his beverage. He glanced at the droplets left at the bottom of the glass before looking up again. "I bet I'm going to need a refill for this. You want anything?"

Spock swallowed, realizing his throat had become dry. "Water would be sufficient."

"Water it is, then."

While Pike busied himself at the area in the room devoted to the storage and display of various containers of alcoholic beverages, Spock removed his jacket and waited, at first clasping his hands behind his back, next releasing his hands to dangle at his sides. He reflected that the sweater he had pulled on, together with his sleeping attire, did not constitute appropriate garb in which to greet a superior, but it was too late to change his apparel. In any case, Pike himself was dressed casually; a lack of footwear, a pair of faded jeans frayed at the cuffs and a Starfleet logo-bearing t-shirt, presumably once black but now a dull dark grey, comprised his outfit.

"Have a seat," Pike told him as he handed Spock a glass. 

They settled into two chairs angled toward one another against a bay window with a view of the street outside. 

Spock obligingly took a sip of his water as Pike swallowed more of his amber liquid.

"About Cadet Kirk," Spock began, setting his glass on the small table between the chairs.

"Thought maybe that's what you came to talk about," Pike remarked. He crossed one leg over the other and waited. 

"You are not incorrect," Spock admitted.

Pike set aside his own beverage. "Something you want to tell me about, son?" 

"Indeed." Spock folded his hands in his lap. "I should most likely first mention I have not been entirely forthright with you about my interactions with Jim Kirk. But at the present moment I wish to raise a far more urgent concern."

Pike idly ran the pad of his thumb over the rim of his glass, but his eyes never left Spock. "Oh?"

"It has come to my attention that Cadet Kirk made plans to travel this weekend. Allowance for such a trip is most irregular, as studies repeatedly confirm that new Starfleet cadets adjust more capably to campus life and academy protocol if they limit their time away for the first twelve weeks. Additionally, the guidebook for first-year cadets states --"

Pike waved a hand to indicate Spock should cease his recitation. "I'm familiar with the regs determining cadet leave, Lieutenant Commander." 

Spock nodded once. "I did not mean to suggest you lacked knowledge of those conventions. But I must convey my strong recommendation that Cadet Kirk not leave the campus presently. The protocol is intended to keep cadets active in their enrollment in Starfleet, rather than allow them to act hastily on what are known as 'second thoughts'. I have reason to believe Kirk may be at particular risk for doubting his place at the academy; therefore, he should not depart at this time."

Pike sighed. "Mister Spock, I can appreciate your concerns. Not only that, I share them. Even so, I felt the reasons for Cadet Kirk's leave request were sound. So I signed off on it."

Spock opened his mouth slightly and closed it again. Though in the past he had had to remind himself to allow humans he conversed with an interval from constant eye contact, now he found he could not meet Pike's gaze. 

In part Spock could not help but wonder what, precisely, Pike knew of Jim's grounds for this leave, and whether Pike now had any inkling of Spock's role in the situation. But mainly he felt perplexed at Pike's statements. He had assumed Pike's fond regard for Jim had obscured the logic of why Jim should remain. It followed that highlighting Spock's sound reasoning should enlighten Pike to the vulnerabilities to which Jim might fall prey. Yet Pike indicated that he too already experienced uneasiness about Jim's weekend away, and had granted the leave regardless. 

Any professional interest Spock had in Jim's future had already been expressed. He could not hope to persuade Pike when Pike essentially agreed with Spock's main argument. Clearly he could do no more. And yet Spock could not yet concede defeat until he had done his utmost to prevent Jim's departure.

"I would consider it a serious loss to Starfleet if Cadet Kirk did not return," he tried.

"You and me both, Spock." Pike took up his glass again, but instead of drinking from it, only cradled the container in his hand. "I think we're pretty much on the same page here." 

Spock felt his face tightening. Pike's reiteration of their common apprehensions did not gratify Spock in the least. How could Spock garner satisfaction that he and a superior agreed when Pike had acted in a manner contrary to the doubts they shared, allowing Jim's leave despite the potential professional hazards? 

"So you're worried mainly about Jim's future in Starfleet?" Pike asked casually.

"What other concern would it be appropriate for me to have?" Spock asked. Obviously he would have to inform Pike later about his involvement with Jim, but for the moment, the main priority was securing Jim's career prospects. 

"No personal investments in the situation?" Pike inquired. 

"None of consequence at the moment," Spock answered. After all, the chances he and Jim would ultimately work past their differences and achieve a bond were very slight. Consequently, the details of Spock's private grief deserved no place in this specific exchange with Pike. 

"You don't look too happy," Pike remarked. 

"I find I do not know what else to say," Spock muttered. There was a twinge at his temple; he resisted his impulse to massage the area even briefly. "Besides, my degree of contentment is not at issue." 

"Spock, you should know Commodore Kim contacted me recently," Pike commented.

"Sir?" Spock asked in confusion. He had not missed a transition in the conversation, and yet Pike's words had nothing to do with their discussion. 

"Commodore Joseph Kim. The Federation official in charge of managing the aftermath on Cataclys," Pike clarified. He stood and ambled over to the window frame, leaning against it before he sipped his drink.

Spock watched him dumbly for a second before he understood that Pike intended the gap in his dialogue to give Spock time to react internally to what one might perceive as emotion-inducing news. 

"Of course," Spock replied after a few moments had passed. 

"Kim's one of the best assessors in cases like this, and his team has been thorough. Though they'll take stock for a while longer before putting out the official report, it seems pretty clear that the deaths of the scientists on planet could not have been prevented. The neurological condition the T'Marek expedition's members developed right after switching water sources had an incredibly swift onset. No one could have saved them."

Spock nodded slowly. Pike's words, and indeed Kim's appraisal, matched what Spock himself had judged the most reasonable conclusion regarding the situation. He straightened in his chair, ready to articulate his agreement. 

Yet when Spock spoke, he said, against all internal expectations, "If only we had arrived earlier..." 

He trailed off, letting the uncomfortable sentiment remain unfinished. 

"There are always should-haves," Pike told him. He tilted his glass in a circular motion, making the cubes of ice clink together, before he finished the liquid inside in one swallow. "When we can try to keep settlers or scientists or alien populations alive, we do our damnedest. But sometimes, even when everyone's doing all they can, tragedies still happen."

When the silence between them stretched out, Spock said nothing, but reached for his glass of water once again. He focused on the glass, tipping it back and drinking quietly until he had finished its contents.

"Things like this, though, they do make you think," Pike continued. "Starfleet can be tough on a woman or man who doesn't have a good support system." 

"Indeed," Spock said. Such indicators of support were often recommended to those training at Starfleet as well as those manning its starships; Spock had heard versions of Pike's reminder a great many times. He cocked his head to the side slightly, trying once again to follow Pike's change of topics.

"That's a large part of why regs are so flexible about romantic involvement," Pike said thoughtfully while gazing out the window, as if he had forgotten Spock's presence and was merely musing to himself. "Most of us need someone in our lives. And by and large, the people who understand all we encounter are other folks at Starfleet. Sure, the admiralty knows the missions still have to come first. But what kind of organization would we be if we denied our members sources of comfort and strength that let us all keep going into the black and taking those risks?" 

"I understand the motivating rationale for your position," Spock said slowly. Years of abiding by his own personally imposed and thoroughly reasoned restrictions against involvement with his fellow members in Starfleet, however, compelled him to say in counterpoint, "At times, however, such flexibility can surely create problems. Would not general avoidance of romantic relationships within Starfleet ensure a lack of conflicts and safeguard the ambitions of its members from the vagaries of personal clashes?" 

"It's true not everything happens in an orderly way, Spock," Pike answered. "Human interactions are rarely tidy. Sometimes there are fraternization problems, and we deal with that. But honestly, we need crew members who understand it's worth taking a chance on messy, unpredictable situations, be they missions with little chance of success, or risky ventures to save groups of beleaguered aliens, or simply striving to make a place for happiness in their own crazy, complicated lives. They make for better officers, better explorers, better peacemakers. I know that's what I want from the women and men who serve with me."

"I see," Spock answered, even though he felt somewhat bewildered. 

"I hope you do," Pike said kindly. He walked the few steps to the area where he kept his bottles and set his glass atop its counter with finality. "Sorry we can't resolve the Jim Kirk issue. We'll just have to hope the worst case scenario won't come to pass. All I can say is, if you get a shot at convincing him just how much he'd be missed if he left, do everything you can to get your point across."

Recognizing the dismissal, Spock got to his feet. "Thank you for hearing my points, Captain." 

Pike smiled. "Not a problem, Lieutenant Commander. And hey, take heart. There's still a chance Jim will change his mind. After all, he has until -- let's see, what was it, again?" He squinted, as though the action would supply an answer. "Oh yes, 0513 tomorrow morning before he makes his way back to Iowa on the Riverside shuttle. Though I should say _this_ morning," he corrected himself he glanced at the wall chronometer, which indicated 0243 hours. "Those early shuttles always come too soon, don't they? Anyway. There's a little time yet."

"Indeed," Spock said blankly. 

As he walked toward the doorway, he reminded himself that regardless of Pike's desire to conclude their interaction he still needed to disclose his relationship with Jim. So he halted and began, "Sir, about the issue I mentioned earlier, my prior acquaintance with Cadet Kirk --"

"I suspect any information you feel necessary to reveal can wait until after the weekend, Mister Spock." Pike's fingertips brushed briefly against Spock's shoulder, a glancing contact that nevertheless effectively guided him toward the door. "Monday morning in my office sound okay? Check with Yeoman Stafford to set up the time." 

And so Spock departed with a nod for Pike, feeling not only troubled that Jim's plans to leave campus remained in place, but also uneasy that there had been yet another turn to the conversation that he had not precisely followed. He descended the stairs to the street level with a slow tread, puzzling over Pike's disparate topics as if they had been guiding marks on a map made of strange symbols.


	11. Chapter 11

Dark though it still was outside Pike's apartment building, a few other residents of the city now shared the sidewalk with Spock. Most of the passers-by hurried off in the direction of the nearest ground transportation hub, likely with the aim of traveling to places of employment. A man who brushed by Spock carried a slumbering child draped over one shoulder and a small backpack flung over the other. Another pedestrian answered his communicator in a breathless voice while hastening forward, though he was quickly overtaken by a group of women who spoke to one another as rapidly as their feet moved.

Spock alone among the small industrious crowd seemed to have no particular aim, no clear destination.

Reason would dictate that he return to his apartment. There he could attempt to make up in part for the night's deficit in sleep. Additionally, he could plan to allow himself extra time for meditation upon waking, and by that means achieve greater balance in his thoughts. 

As for the day to come, it would accomplish little to wait and wonder how Jim's weekend would resolve. 

Perhaps Spock could best use the hours ahead of him to track the results of his scientific research in the laboratories. Or, he might return to the library and endeavor to research topics his students would likely focus upon in their upcoming essays. 

Rather than reflecting with any degree of satisfaction on the potential productivity of such ventures, Spock could not help but conclude whatever pastime he chose, it ultimately mattered little. Whatever he pursued, it would have no impact on whether Jim Kirk would return to Starfleet's campus. 

So be it, Spock thought wearily as he trudged along. When a man and a woman bustled close by him, causing him to veer to the right, he completed the arc by taking an unnecessary turn, only dimly acknowledging this path as far more meandering than his direct route to reach Pike's apartment an hour ago.

After the first pointless turn, it was easy enough to take another. So he followed randomly down a side street, taking what some would no doubt call the scenic route. 

At the end of the following block he nearly bent his course to the right in order to reestablish himself on the shortest path to his apartment. But an odd impulse made him change his direction once more. He soon found himself walking toward a green area, the very same small park where he and Jim had carried out an unplanned assignation on the night of Pike's dinner party. 

He halted as soon as he saw where he had ended, and looked around him. Two young men approached on the opposite side of the path, evidently jogging through this area late though the hour was. They spoke no words to each other, but ran in sync, feet hitting the packed dirt trail at steady intervals like the fixed beats of a familiar conversation between intimates.

After the runners passed him by, Spock was left alone in the quiet space, next to a familiar looking group of pine trees. Surprisingly, Spock could not remember precisely which one he and Jim had leaned against as they had rushed to achieve their mutual pleasure; his frenzied mind had presumably not taken in details as it would normally. 

He reached out to touch one tree, an unremarkable specimen of pine, brushing his thumb back and forth over the rough bark.

Despite his attempt to focus his thoughts, he still felt disordered. Obviously lack of sleep alone could not account for his state of distraction; as past experience had taught him, he could perform capably on a great deal less. He recalled M'Benga's reminder that technically he was still recovering. Presumably though he had regained his normal healthy levels, he might temporarily require more than the usual amount of time of rest to achieve equilibrium.

None of his reasoning could account for why he felt so fatigued, why he swayed slightly where he stood. Though he knew it inadvisable to take even a short respite in a public place so late at night, Spock closed his eyes momentarily, leaning his forehead against the tree trunk. 

As soon as he let himself relax slightly, his exhausted mind supplied for him an image he had not thought of in weeks -- the spartan, dull grey interior of the containment chamber in Sick Bay aboard the Farragut, where he had spent several days alone after beaming up from Cataclys. 

The decision to quarantine Spock and the others of the landing party was of course sensible. At the time, what had caused the deaths of the scientists of the T'Marek Expedition remained unknown, and though none of the crew who had been on planet exhibited worrisome symptoms, caution was preferred in such cases.

Logical also was the decree to continue Spock's confinement even after his fellow crew members were pronounced fit to resume their duties and given free rein of the ship. 

"But surely we can release Mister Spock as well," Captain Coutinho had reasoned when the CMO pronounced Spock must remain separated for a time. "I thought we'd found humans aren't adversely affected by this parasite. Obviously we already know Vulcans can be extremely vulnerable --" Coutinho had cut himself off with a startled and apologetic look for Spock, who stood at parade rest behind the invisible barrier blocking his small chamber from the rest of sick bay, effectively in between the captain and CMO as they faced one another. 

"At any rate," the captain had continued, "I agree Spock should remain in Sick Bay while we wait to learn if there's a period of incubation or not. Of course I want him to get every medical attention we can provide if he needs anything. But with none of the other crewmen at risk, there's no justification for keeping him in isolation."

"I'm afraid we still don't know all we'd like to about this, Miguel," Doctor Kovacic had replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose absently. Her tired eyes flickered to Spock and back again to the captain. "With the number of fatalities we've observed, and the parasite's quite likely aggressive onset, I'd rather play it safe for now. I do apologize, Lieutenant Commander," she had added, turning to face Spock. "But I'm sure you'll agree."

"We at least can predict the period of time during which the parasite might begin its deadly course," Spock had contributed calmly. "The T'Marek's expedition head reported all clear four days before our arrival. Assuming the last possible moment the expedition members might have succumbed to the parasite was directly before our on-planet arrival, we arrive at an estimate of how long I must remain apart from the others."

"Four days," Captain Coutinho had repeated. His dismay had been plain as he searched Spock's face. When Spock had not visibly reacted, however, the captain had exhaled and addressed Kovacic once more. "That leaves Spock with three additional days in isolation?"

"Unless we learn differently in the meantime," Kovacic had answered. "Excuse me, Captain, Lieutenant Commander," she had said hastily as she caught view of a Science ensign hurrying into Sick Bay with a stack of PADDs. 

After Kovacic had left to consult with her subordinate, Coutinho had stood silently for a few moments, brow furrowed. Finally he had looked up and spread his hands slightly at his sides as though offering up some invisible aid. "Spock, how can I help you while you wait this out?" 

"I would appreciate regular updates about the research so that I might examine the evidence and contribute to the team's findings," Spock had said at once. 

"Of course. I know you'd rather be in the laboratories, collaborating face-to-face, but we'll involve you all we can. Certainly it'll be better than sitting here with nothing else to do." The captain had attempted a broad smile, though the expression appeared strained. "Besides, I know your valuable expertise will help everyone in Science considerably. Obviously no one aboard this ship would want to tackle a xenobiological problem like this without you --" 

At that juncture Coutinho had faltered, and whatever he had intended to declare next remained unspoken. 

"Sir?" Spock had prompted him.

"I'd best return to the bridge for now, Lieutenant Commander," Coutinho had said in a gruff voice. "I'll have Yeoman Remnick get all the current information to you shortly." With that he had proceeded out of Sick Bay, leaving Spock alone again.

When the released patients had departed earlier, some had promised to "check in on" Spock regularly while he remained isolated. That most did not follow through was understandable, given the relative briefness of Spock's four-day stay in the chamber, and the onboard tasks that doubtless required their attentions. 

With few visitors other than Medical staff, Spock's remaining time spent in containment had turned into a blur of intense research colored by urgency and apprehension. In his drive to discover more about the parasite, its origins and its effects, he had forgone sleep. Mainly he had required the extra time to investigate evidence. But though he tried not to dwell on the matter, he also simply could not avail himself of the biobed provided for his rest -- not when doing so would require him to mimic the positioning of many of the dead discovered on Cataclys.

All the while he had pushed himself to investigate further, reading any tangentially related articles the ship's databases supplied, he had kept a small portion of his concentration on his own condition. It made sense to keep his own account of his potentially failing health, after all; the medical staff had only so much knowledge about the signs of Vulcan vulnerabilities.

When approved to leave the containment area at last (to Captain Coutinho's evident relief when he personally came to tell Spock the news) Spock had departed without a backwards glance. He had no personal effects in his cell, after all, and had no need to reacquaint himself a final time with the all too familiar dull grey surface of its walls. 

Spock opened his eyes, feeling a swell of relief at the sight of the park and greenery before him. 

For weeks he had forcibly blocked any thoughts of his isolation, had not permitted a single recollection of the small grim space he had been compelled to inhabit. Now it seemed as though he could not stop the tide. He leaned heavily against the tree, availing himself of its support as welcome ballast against the unexpected weight of those unsettling memories. 

How had he not recognized the fear that had clouded his thoughts throughout his ordeal? Even when he had rejoined the crew, he had assumed he resumed his shipboard tasks with a clear mind. Never had he considered the after-effects those events might pose, nor what grave potential consequences they might hold for him -- and, ultimately, for Jim. 

Amid Spock's distracted thoughts, Pike's reassurance of a mere hour ago returned to him: no one could have saved the T'Marek expedition members. Yet strangely that intended comfort only made him ache now. Spock could not help but recollect how he had struggled with feelings of envy during the approach to Cataclys. He had strived to bury the illogical reaction as the Farragut neared the settlement, of course. But the lifelong longing in him, to find his place in a community of Vulcans working together with camaraderie and purpose, had undeniably reemerged as the ship neared orbit. 

Such disquiet, years after Spock had made the deliberate choice to train at Starfleet rather than enter the Vulcan Science Academy, had made little sense. At the time of the Farragut's arrival at Cataclys, Spock worked alongside a crew of admirable individuals on a Constitution class starship, with every hope for greater opportunities as his career progressed. He had considered himself content. Yet in the quiet moments of anticipation as they drew near to the planetary outpost -- soon he would speak Golic to other Vulcans; soon he would find himself surrounded by familiar behaviors and the people of his home world -- Spock had rediscovered a loneliness he could not easily quell.

To think he had coveted the community of those Vulcans on Cataclys! In their deaths they were alone as Spock had been as the sole Vulcan aboard the Farragut, alone as he had been in those weeks after he had returned to Earth, spiraling out of control in a mental and physical decline he could not comprehend.

And yet he had not been entirely alone. Spock straightened as he remembered his greatest moment of confusion during his frenzy, but also his greatest moment of satisfaction -- in the hospital room, holding Jim in his arms, hearing Jim's vow to remain by Spock's side. 

_Okay, I'll be right here with you. You've got my word -- I'm not going anywhere._

Undeniably the thrilling prospect of melding with Jim had filled him with vindication, but that had not been the only source of Spock's fierce delight. That fervent pledge, Jim swearing he would not leave Spock alone, had sent a sense of joy through Spock he had never before experienced. 

Yet Jim had left.

Obviously Spock was no longer in a dangerous predicament, he told himself dully. He would not consider Jim beholden to a promise rendered in extenuating circumstances.

But though he remained free from the immediate risk of his death, did Spock not still need Jim all the same? Ought he not to communicate to Jim to the very best of his ability his heartfelt desire to establish a tie between them? To do absolutely everything he could do explain how such a connection would allow them the chance for happiness beyond compare?

And yet. Jim had left.

Spock _had let Jim leave_.

He glanced around as if seeing his location anew. 

_There's a little time yet_ , he remembered Pike saying. In the course of his strange turns of conversation, Pike had, unwittingly or not, supplied the pertinent details of Jim's scheduled shuttle. 

Spock quickly confirmed the hour by checking his communicator. If he set out now, he had time to reach the Starfleet transportation center, travel to the shuttle docking station, and speak to Jim before his scheduled departure. 

Spock whirled around, hurrying off in the appropriate direction so that he might finally find Jim and plead with him to stay.

****************

Spock used his identification to gain access to the shuttle docking station's departure area a full twenty-three minutes before Jim's arranged transport was due to depart. He counted himself quite fortunate he had arrived before passengers embarked; watching the stream of travelers board the vehicle would enable him to intercept Jim more easily.

With the remaining time quickly counting down, and no sight of Jim yet, Spock rapidly reviewed the reasons to request that Jim stay. Obviously Jim's future as a cadet and his later career were prominent among them. But when Spock remembered Jim's downcast eyes, his dispirited posture, and felt his own aching desire just to see Jim once more, those rational points dissipated like a fine morning mist in the heat of the midday sun. Spock must implore Jim to stay for what seemed to him at once the most and the least logical reason -- because he so dearly wished for Jim to remain, not just at Starfleet, but by his side.

Though his aim was clear, Spock could not deny experiencing preemptive discomfort in preparing to unburden his feelings. Obviously he had always strived to contain his emotions and subjugate them to reason; now, he prepared to announce his innermost sentiments for a potentially unwilling listener, and to do so in a public place. Yet clearly such a declaration was necessary, however disagreeable his anticipation of the event. 

For in taking this risk, Spock would extend the same trust to Jim that Jim had continually and generously offered to Spock. Had not Jim repeatedly made himself vulnerable throughout their acquaintance, at the hazard of his emotional health? Spock had despaired when Jim left his apartment, thinking all possibility of a bond was extinguished at that moment. Yet how had he not seen that Jim's previous record of persistence, his willingness to continue his association with Spock despite repeated discouragements, how he had allowed a connection to develop between them even when Spock thought to quash it? How many times had Spock turned away from Jim, only for Jim to stubbornly stay at his side?

Spock took a few steps closer to the boarding zone, to make certain that he and Jim would not fail to locate one another in the busy area. He did not wish to hinder the workers who were pursuing their duties, nor did he want to place himself in the paths of the various passengers milling about as they awaited the boarding call. Yet obviously making certain he could view Jim when he at last arrived was his top priority.

"Shuttle 1701, with direct service to Riverside Iowa, now admitting pre-ticketed passengers," the automated system announced. 

A few of the waiting passengers rushed ahead. Others paused to check their belongings or bid goodbye to the persons who had accompanied them to their transport before strolling over to the shuttle entryway. 

"All passengers for Shuttle 1701, pre-ticketed and those wishing to purchase tickets, please board directly."

Soon even those who had been standing by and waiting for the majority of the other travelers to proceed before them had made their way over to the boarding doors. 

At no point had Spock seen Jim.

For the next several minutes Spock continued to observe the area around him vigilantly, but nowhere did he see the flash of cadet reds that so suited Jim, or the glimpse of dark blond hair he had sometimes used to identify Jim in a crowd. 

"Last call for Shuttle 1701," Spock heard. 

Behind Spock, the turbo lift providing access to the departure level opened to reveal one last passenger. Spock pivoted to the sound of the sliding doors as the person simultaneously sprinted across the waiting area. But though Spock felt his heart thump in his side when he saw the man with tousled blond hair in civilian clothes running toward him, the latecomer was not Jim.

The final traveler hurriedly brushed by Spock in order to gain entry to the shuttle. The shuttle crewman responsible for watching the boarding process beckoned him impatiently. 

At last the outer hull door slid shut with heavy finality.

Spock stood frozen as he watched the shuttle detaching itself and finally departing. 

The crowd surrounding him had thinned considerably. A few workers took advantage of the lull to chat with one another while a handful of employees fulfilled their duties by checking communications systems or working at nearby computer terminals.

Spock turned slowly that he might survey the area in full. Had Spock somehow overlooked Jim entirely? Unlikely; Spock had arrived before boarding began, and kept a close eye on the crowd throughout the process. 

What if Jim had changed his schedule and taken an earlier shuttle, or procured another means of leaving campus? Had he potentially switched his destination? If he had indeed altered his plans, Jim could in fact already be traveling anywhere now. Spock had only the information Captain Pike had inadvertently mentioned. 

"Do you need any help?" a passing ensign asked Spock, his eyebrows raised to indicate he had noticed Spock lingering in the area seemingly without purpose.

"None you can provide," Spock answered before he left the station with a heavy tread.

****************

Spock slowly walked through his lobby and took the elevator to the appropriate floor, attempting to ignore the numbness that had stolen over him as he had journeyed back to his building.

Though he typically considered any diminishment of his senses undesirable, he preferred this current empty detachment over the hopelessness that had surged through him back at the docking area. When he had realized that he had no way of locating Jim, bleakness descended so rapidly that Spock very nearly staggered under its weight. 

What was the better scenario, Spock wondered as he walked along in a daze through the corridors: to have known Jim as he did, and possibly be parted from him permanently, or to have never met Jim at all? 

Obviously in the latter case Spock would have risked death. Without his interactions with Jim, there would be no reason for Doctor McCoy to recognize Spock's unusual medical distress and contact a healer at the Vulcan Consulate. 

If he had received therapeutic melds from a Vulcan healer in time, however, Spock likely would have recovered fully and eventually settled with an adequate mate. Without having met Jim, he would remain unaware of the intensity and passion that could potentially fuel his relationship with a partner. He would certainly have avoided the misery that now threatened to overwhelm him entirely. 

Yet even given the maddening frenzy he had experienced, the possessiveness that had overruled his reason, the utter distraction his obsession with Jim had driven him to, Spock could not help but think he would still choose to know Jim. Though there was now little hope of finding fulfillment in their affinity, Spock had caught sight of something truly remarkable, a potential connection granted to very few. Yes, he thought lethargically as he forced himself to continue walking toward his hallway, though its loss would now shape his life irrevocably, he had grasped at something precious, and that was in its own way a treasure, however bittersweet the memories. 

Despite his reaffirmation that he would embrace his difficult situation given the chance, the concept of a life without Jim stretched on interminably before him. It seemed to Spock a passage marked with utter desolation and cold, like the path of a lost traveler in the night tramping through the desert sands of Vulcan, searching for relief he would never find.

Spock hunched his shoulders as he turned the corner to the last part of the corridor leading to his apartment. When his entryway came into view, Spock stopped abruptly.

Directly in front of Spock's door, Jim sat on the floor. He rested his cheek on his folded arms, which were in turn balanced on his drawn up knees. His eyes were closed, and Spock could see golden eyelashes brushing dark smudges, betraying how little he must have rested recently. Indeed, he breathed deeply, appearing to doze as he kept his vigil. 

Spock had never understood before the Terran figurative descriptions for shock in fictitious materials: "his heart stopped" or "he forgot to breathe." But at that moment, seeing Jim before him, he could attest he heard a roaring sound in his ears, experienced tightness in his side as his heart lurched, and felt his chest constricting until he realized that he had indeed stopped breathing for several seconds. 

Everything tipped and focused in to the single point of Jim awaiting him at his doorway.

Spock quickened his steps, and as he drew closer Jim startled awake and looked up. His blue eyes were bleary, and he blinked in confusion, a hesitant look on his face turning into a troubled expression. 

"Spock, I --" Jim unfolded his limbs and stood with some awkwardness. 

"You are here," Spock said, as though he were no better than a first form Vulcan school child who had not yet learned how lamentably illogical it was to state the obvious. 

"Yeah, I..." Jim inhaled and laughed on his exhalation, a choked sound. "I couldn't go. I just thought maybe we could --"

Before he could finish speaking, Spock moved forward to gather Jim in his arms. 

Spock spared no moment to wonder at his own lack of composure in embracing Jim immediately, or to worry about what Jim's next words might be. He knew only the need to hold Jim close. With a shaky sigh, he wound his fingers in Jim's unkempt hair, clutched him across his shoulders with his free arm, and leaned in and inhaled at the crook of Jim's neck. He briefly closed his eyes, feeling Jim's pulse leap against the brush of his lips.

"-- I just thought maybe we could talk," Jim continued, his voice muffled. He stood stiffly for a moment. After a beat, however, his arms finally wrapped around Spock's torso, carefully at first and then tightly, squeezing so hard that if Spock had been a human he might have exhaled sharply at the pressure. 

Distractedly, Spock heard the sound of an apartment door opening. As it slid shut, someone nearby huffed out, though whether in irritation or amusement Spock did not care to discover. Thankfully their observer treaded past where Spock and Jim still embraced in the hallway without giving vent to any further reactions.

At the interruption, however, Jim cleared his throat and stepped backward, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish expression. "So. Um."

"Come inside," Spock murmured. 

Jim gnawed at his lower lip slightly when the door opened, but despite whatever hesitation he may have felt, he quickly complied with Spock's request.

As they entered, Spock could see through the living room windows that the last wisps of dawn had given way to a typically foggy San Francisco morning. But even in the sparse and diffuse light, to have Jim present made the gloomy room appear bright.

"How long have you been waiting?" Spock asked. He kept his hands at his sides for the moment, but he could not stop his gaze from roving over Jim, ravenously taking in every aspect of him. 

"Uh. I meant to go and pick up my bag, but when I thought about how we'd left things I just -- I came back here. I never actually made it to the shuttle --"

"I am aware," Spock interrupted. "I went to intercept you, but you were not at the docking area."

"Intercept me?" Jim echoed.

Spock paused. "I intended to make another attempt to convince you to remain here at Starfleet, not only in the interests of your career, but to declare my belief that exploring a connection between us is a highly worthwhile pursuit. I did not present my case adequately in our last discussion, and I hoped to demonstrate my ardor for you by way of a public declaration."

For several moments Jim just stared at him. "Wait a sec. You mean you went to stop me from taking off at the airport like one of those classic romantic holovids?" he asked finally, his grin crooked.

Spock tilted his head to the side. "I am not familiar --"

"You know. The music swells; we see each other in a crowd. I freeze, you catch up to me and tell me I'm the only one for you, and it ends with us making out while the camera spins around capturing us at every angle?"

"I had not planned on musical accompaniment," Spock said, slightly confused. "Additionally, there were no video recording devices in the vicinity aside from the standard surveillance monitors."

"It's just surprisingly romantic of you, is all I meant," Jim said. He shook his head, looked down and smiled to himself. "The last time I saw you, besides the weirdness of you completely changing tracks all of a sudden and deciding you wanted to be with me no matter what, you were totally focused on how a bond would be the most logical thing ever. But the whole running after me thing sounds kind of, I don't know." Jim glanced up, his eyes mischievous. "Emotional of you. Pretty human, in fact."

Spock raised an eyebrow and Jim grinned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything --"

"I am, in fact, half human," Spock interrupted. "My mother is not only human but spent her early life on Earth. She met my father at a diplomatic event, and though few supported their union, they chose to bond. Despite my mixed heritage, however, I have been raised and educated according to the Vulcan way." 

"Wow, okay," Jim said, blinking several times in succession. "That sounds like a hell of a story. But for now, let's get back to you riding in at the last minute to stop me from leaving town. How'd you even know I was going to do that anyway?"

Spock frowned as he reviewed what had taken place between the last time he had spoken to Jim and this moment. "When I suspected and confirmed your plans to take a leave from campus, I felt concern for your future at Starfleet. Consequently, soon after you departed my apartment I went to consult Captain Pike --"

"In the middle of the night?" Jim broke in. "Bet he loved that."

"You may be gratified to learn Pike was awake and welcomed a conversation with me," Spock informed him. "After we discussed my worries about the advisability of your trip and covered other tangentially related topics, he happened to mention the information about your shuttle --"

"That crafty old bastard," Jim muttered under his breath, looking both annoyed and impressed. "Don't worry about it," he added at his customary volume with a dismissive wave of his hand when Spock waited for him to explain his meaning. "You were saying?"

Spock narrowed his eyes but for the moment contained his curiosity regarding Jim's remarks about Pike. "In any case, after some internal reflection, I hastened to the docking area. Obviously you were not present, and I immediately returned here."

When Jim frowned, Spock tensed slightly. He had intended to declare his emotional fervor toward Jim with greater persuasiveness. But in narrating his discovery of Jim's plans, perhaps he had appeared too rational and remote.

"I understand you were taken aback earlier by my rapid change in position regarding our relationship," Spock began. "And in attempting to convince you of the sincere nature of my intentions, I perhaps presented my case in too distant a manner. Please understand, though, that despite my repeated and mistaken attempts to create distance between us in the past, I wish for nothing more than an emotionally satisfying and passionately affectionate joining between us in the future." 

Jim's expression cleared; in fact, he appeared to hold back a smile. "I sort of picked up on that, what with you deciding to declare your ardor for me in a public place. Is it bad that a part of me wishes I'd gotten to see that?"

"Then I have begun to convince you?" Spock asked at once. He could not stop himself from taking two steps toward Jim though he halted before covering more ground. "Would you agree to explore -- or at least, consider exploring -- a relationship between us?" 

"Yeah. You don't even need to sell the considering stage -- I'm all for straight up exploring. I wouldn't have come back if I wasn't." Jim exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders. "Look, I'm not saying every part of this makes sense in my head. When I left, all I could think was that I had to put space between us, not just for me, but for you too. Everything you tried to tell me, it seemed way too sudden, way too huge." He met Spock's gaze, blue eyes shining with resolve. "But I'm not the kind of guy who walks away from something that could be incredible just because it's a big risk." 

"Jim," Spock said, his voice hoarse.

When he took a step forward, though, Jim held up a hand to forestall him. "I've got to say, though, since we're trying to lay everything out on the table, part of me is still a little freaked out. I don't know if I'm ready to go for the big time bonding, and I know that's what you really want, or at least what you think you want --"

"I do desire that ultimately," Spock interrupted. "As for your reluctance to trust my resolve, even given only a limited knowledge of my culture, you are presumably aware that Vulcans cannot lie. But if you require reassurance, I will reiterate my commitment to you however many times you deem necessary. Not that we are obligated to discuss a permanent connection between us immediately," he added hastily. "I am aware your agreement to undertake a relationship with me does not extend to bonding at this time. Further, please know I recognize that I was remiss in introducing the topic of Vulcan unions so baldly in our last discussion. We will approach the subject more gradually, and our connection more carefully, if it pleases you." 

"Okay, I hear you. Even if you want in on the long haul, you're willing to take some time before we jump into something more. I'm definitely up for that too, taking things slow to start with." Jim gave Spock a small smile as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "So I guess we sorted most of this out."

"It would seem so," Spock answered. He almost felt he had to root himself to the spot, so badly did he want to clasp Jim in his arms once more. But everything about Jim's current posture indicated that "taking things slow" did not include a rapid reintroduction of their previous physical closeness. 

"I should probably head back to the dorm for now, then," Jim said slowly. "Tell Bones I decided not to up and run after all, maybe send a message to Pike to let him know I stayed. But um, we'll, I don't know, meet for dinner or something soon? I guess -- start to date?" Jim shrugged helplessly, as though he had no idea what his own proposal entailed. 

"We shall certainly make arrangements to see one another in a romantic setting in the near future," Spock assured him. He wished to do whatever possible to accommodate Jim's parameters for their interactions even if he himself desired greater intimacy much sooner. He had never before participated in such a scenario, in which physical gratification might be delayed due to emotional issues; it therefore seemed to him sensible that in this, he would have to let Jim lead.

"Okay," Jim said softly. He took a step backward, and then another before standing still and absentmindedly smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket. "So we can comm each other? Maybe after the weekend would be good. That way, we give ourselves some time to let all of this settle."

"I am agreeable to your plan," Spock answered. He watched longingly as Jim began to turn toward the door.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Jim exclaimed, turning back. "I talked to someone too, after I left your apartment."

"Indeed?" Spock asked forlornly. He took a moment to formulate his hope that Jim's previous conversational partner did not recommend a further slowing of their expressions of affection toward one another. 

"Yeah. Another cadet at Starfleet. She's pretty pissed off at me too; I woke her up in the middle of the night to ask her something." Jim's blue eyes crinkled in amusement, though his expression appeared nervous. 

"You have upset one of your peers? To what end?" Spock inquired as politely as he could manage. 

"Just that, I needed to know how to say this to you: _Tushah nash-veh k’du_ ," Jim pronounced haltingly.

Spock felt his lips part in surprise.

"Did I say it okay?" Jim asked, searching Spock's face anxiously. "I made her repeat it a bunch of times until I got it, which is part of why she was so mad, but -- I needed to tell you I really am so sorry, for what happened on Cataclys, for what you must have gone through because of it. I know that's what started all of this. And we've been pretty focused on what's been going on between us, but I wanted to let you know that -- if I've got it right -- that I grieve with thee."

"Your words are the first I have heard Vulcan spoken in quite some time," Spock said gruffly.

"Yeah?" Jim's fingers twitched at his sides. 

Spock opened his mouth, intending to express his gratitude for Jim's care and sympathy. But instead he blurted out, "Say the words again."

Jim swallowed. " _Tushah nash-veh k’du_ ," he repeated in a low voice. 

Spock did not know which of them moved first, for they appeared to meet at the mid-way point, both of them grasping at one another as if to a lifeline. He closed his eyes, buried his nose in Jim's hair and held tightly without regard for his greater strength. But Jim did not complain, only hung on firmly in return, brushing his lips over Spock's cheeks and neck and ears and whatever else he could reach, murmuring, "Spock," and, "I'm here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Chapter Twelve is already fully revised and with my betas, so my best guess of when I will share it is sometime next week or early the following week.
> 
> Meanwhile, thank you so much for reading, and for the continued comments and kudos! This fic has been such a pleasure to write and share, and it means a great deal to me to hear that you're enjoying it. 
> 
> You can subscribe to the story if you want to keep an eye out for more, or if you like, [check me out over at tumblr](http://entrenous88.tumblr.com/) for lots of Star Trek fangirling and posts of me flailing excitedly about and/or tearing my hair out over my writing. Thanks again!


	12. Chapter 12

How long he and Jim clung together in their desperate fashion, Spock could not say. He gave himself over to the contact, allowing the sensations to flood him, letting Jim comfort him as no one before had ever done. 

When their intense embrace became awkward to sustain they loosened their grasps, and repositioned themselves in a more relaxed hold. Jim slumped against him, cheek resting on Spock's shoulder, and rubbed slow soothing circles at the small of Spock's back. Spock carefully slipped his hands under the back of Jim's t-shirt, finding relief in resting his palms against the familiar musculature. 

When Jim turned his head slightly to meet Spock's gaze, Spock stroked along his flushed cheek and angled his face so that their lips might easily meet.

Their kiss began gently, but before long Spock cradled Jim's jaw with both hands, turning the feather-light brushes of lips to a more satisfying pressure. When he slipped his tongue inside Jim's pliant mouth, Jim made a muffled sound and gripped Spock's shoulders hard.

They began to breathe heavily, clutching at each other with greater haste. Spock left off cupping Jim's cheek so that he might tug Jim's shirt upward. Jim fisted the fabric at the waist of Spock's sleep trousers to yank their lower halves even closer.

Soon Jim worked his hands underneath the waist of Spock's trousers to squeeze his backside, and Spock impatiently tore off Jim's t-shirt fully to feel the warmth of his body. 

"Off," Jim panted, attempting to relieve Spock of his sweater along with his sleeveless tunic he still wore underneath.

"Though I do not wish to desist," Spock muttered as he lifted his arms over his head obligingly to enable Jim's removal of his garments, "I should note that I believed you intended for us to proceed slowly in resuming our physical intimacies." 

"Forget I ever implied anything like that. Waiting? Worst idea ever," Jim huffed as they fumbled together to pull off Spock's sleep trousers and Jim's jeans. "We need to do this right the hell now."

They staggered to the right, tangling their legs together and stumbling as they finished stripping. After one overlong pause against a convenient wall so that Spock could kiss Jim frantically, Spock at last managed to guide them in the direction of his bedroom.

Jim let out a surprised, "oof!" when Spock tossed him onto the mattress, but he grinned dazedly when Spock crawled atop him. 

"Hey, we finally made it to a bed," Jim got out in a choked voice while Spock bit and kissed against his collarbone.

"Indeed," Spock returned before he licked a stripe up Jim's neck and nosed at the underside of his jaw. "I have thought of you multiple times in this very location, of how you might look stretched out beneath me against these bedclothes. And now, to have you here with me at last --" He did not bother to finish his sentence, instead surging to kiss Jim's lips once more. 

Jim kissed back adeptly for the most part, though his tendency to smile widely at Spock whenever they briefly caught their breaths hindered his efforts somewhat. But he soon returned Spock's attentions fully as they found a rhythm, his lovely mouth warm and welcoming. When Jim's legs parted automatically, Spock at once settled between them and deftly bent Jim's right leg toward his chest. He blanketed Jim's body with his again, relishing the sensation of Jim stretched out beneath him, of Jim's hard cock straining against his abdomen. 

"Oh, fuck, I want you inside me," Jim breathed. He squirmed restlessly, pelvis thrusting in a random rhythm as he sought more friction. 

"I desire that as well; I want to have you more than anything," Spock vowed. When his hips snapped forward in agreement, his erection slid in the valley between Jim's groin and thigh. "For so long without knowing, I have wished --"

Jim drew him back down in a wild, devouring kiss, and Spock momentarily forgot everything he might have said as Jim, agile and gorgeous and his for the taking, moaned helplessly into his mouth.

"Condom?" Jim asked urgently after some time had passed. He let his head fall back on the pillows, inhaling sharply to combat his shortness of breath.

"I will retrieve the necessary items," Spock told him, quickly pushing up on his palms and straddling Jim's body, thighs astride Jim's groin. The feel of their cocks again nudging together, the warmth of Jim's enticing body heat, their scents beginning to mingle in the surrounding air; every aspect of their encounter made Spock's pulse race. 

He swiftly reached for the essential articles from his bedside table drawer and set them down on the mattress next to Jim's hip. But before he proceeded, he could not resist pausing at the sight laid out in front of him.

After all of their rushed and furtive encounters, he could at last look his fill -- at the gleam of Jim's golden skin, the glow of color in his cheeks, and the gratifying dilation of his pupils. Based on the way Jim's chest heaved and his eyes scanned hungrily over Spock's body, Spock felt certain Jim would soon demand they continue. But for the moment Spock surveyed Jim with aching pleasure, keenly feeling the erotic and emotional prospects again blooming between them. He caressed Jim's unkempt hair tenderly for a moment, overcome.

"You okay?" Jim asked. The vasodilation from his cheeks had spread across his chest, leaving his torso tantalizingly flushed. 

Spock nodded, unable to speak. As he pulled his hand away from those soft strands to gather the bottle of lubricant, however, he inadvertently brushed against Jim's temple.

At the spark and flare of psi energy there -- so vibrant, so dynamic, so available to his seeking fingertips -- Spock squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. He snatched his hand back, breathing heavily. 

"Spock?" 

"It is only -- you are so tempting, not only your exquisitely fit body but your highly alluring mind," Spock said, his voice trembling. As he spoke, he curled his fingers around Jim's erection and rubbed his thumb under the plump head. With his free hand he stroked along Jim's thigh, following the path of ligaments and muscles as Jim shifted beneath him. He wished to caress Jim, obviously, but the deliberate touches had an additional benefit; this way, Spock could refrain from his dangerous craving to reposition his fingers for a meld.

"I love how even your dirty talk gets cerebral," Jim teased with a grin. He insinuated his hand down to lace his fingers with Spock's around his hard on, and rolled his hips up, pushing through their mutual grasp. 

When Spock did not reply to the joke, however, Jim's expression rapidly shifted to one of concern. He stilled for a moment and let go, instead sliding both hands soothingly up and down Spock's forearms. "What's going on? You're nervous, right? What's up?"

Even with the comforting touch Spock tensed, reluctant to bring further complications between them. And yet his own forbidden yearnings, almost tangible in their strength, forced his hand: he could not in good conscience proceed without informing Jim of what he had almost inflicted upon him at Starfleet Medical.

"When the pseudo Pon Farr was upon me, and Doctors M'Benga and McCoy discussed their intended treatments, I pulled you away from the others --"

"Possessive Spock mode, right," Jim cut in, his lips quirked a little. "Sorry, keep going," he said more seriously when Spock arched an eyebrow. 

"I lifted my hand to touch you here." Spock's fingertips skimmed over Jim's psi points before he drew his hand back again. "In doing so, I intended to initiate a meld between us even though I did not have your permission to do so."

As Jim listened, the tip of his tongue wet his lips. Spock had to steel his resolve to clarify his near transgression so that he would not immediately lean forward and press their mouths together.

"You mean like a psychic connection? I've heard Vulcans have that ability, but I thought they could only do it with each other." As Jim spoke, he absently extended his hand to Spock's psi points, echoing Spock's manual arrangement. When Spock shivered at the unintentional gesture, Jim adjusted himself so he was propped up on the pillows and reached with greater deliberation to thread his fingers slowly through Spock's hair. At first he proceeded cautiously, but when Spock made no objections he continued with greater assurance, occasionally caressing the outer shell of Spock's ear as he stroked. 

"Typically, Vulcans meld only with close family members and their mates, the vast majority of whom are indeed other Vulcans," Spock clarified. "However, Vulcans can initiate melds with a variety of beings. Ideally we only undertake them with the consent of the other party." He paused, but forced himself to continue. "Obviously at that moment in the hospital room, I not only failed to obtain your approval, but in my frenzied state believed I did not need to seek your acquiescence at all." 

Jim nodded, watching Spock intensely. "And what would have happened back at Medical, if you had melded us? You would have read my mind?"

"I was not stable enough to delve into your thoughts with care," Spock admitted. "The meld would have been intrusive, utterly uncontrolled. I was completely convinced you were my mate. At that moment, I resolved to join us through our minds to make that bond tangible and fixed. The inevitable result would have been a well-nigh indissoluble bond -- unless we later sought out a Vulcan elder versed in the unusual procedure of breaking marital links." 

"Whoa," Jim said, blinking rapidly. Strangely, he seemed more astonished by Spock's disclosure than angered by it. "I think I didn't quite get the almost irreversible part when you basically proposed to me last night. A Vulcan can actually mentally link himself -- permanently -- to someone else? And because you were so ready to dive right into my brain, you almost walked us down the aisle all by yourself?" His hand slipped down so that his fingers rested, warm and reassuring, at the nape of Spock's neck. 

Spock gave a slight nod, attempting to keep his expression calm. "Normally an elder would establish the bond formally. That is the case for most couples, particularly those bonded as children. But as we have a far higher than standard degree of affinity, and as our minds are consequently highly attracted to each other, it is quite likely my endeavor would have been a success without the intervention of a third party." 

"Okay," Jim said slowly. He scratched lightly at the base of Spock's skull, as if the action aided his thinking. "Let's put the bonded-forever-and-ever part aside for just a sec and back up a little. You melding with me -- if you wanted to do it and I agreed and all that -- it wouldn't just be you inside my mind, reading what's going through my head. It would be both of us connecting to each other?"

"Indeed," Spock said softly. He let his thumbs skim over Jim's sharp hipbones, drifting lightly along the soft skin above on his groin. "Were I to allow myself to meld with you with your express permission, my purpose would be to establish a mutual link of our thoughts, our desires, of what we are to one another. Without demonstrating the process directly, I can think of no other way to describe it than an exchange of our very selves on the mental plane. "

A flush rose again to Jim's cheek, and he exhaled shakily. "Wow. That is seriously intense. And anytime there's a meld that's really, um, passionate, there's a strong chance a bond will form right away?"

"That is in fact not the case, though I can recognize where your confusion arose." Seeing as Jim did not object to his light touch, Spock humored himself by stroking along Jim's sides, lingering over the bumps of his ribs. "Such a powerful connection may take place once or indeed multiple times without establishing a bond. Vulcans strive to maintain some measure of logical distance and calm when melding with those who are not close family members or mates, and therefore, given a Vulcan's normal state, a bond is not inevitable."

"But you couldn't have done that during the pseudo Pon Farr, held back like you normally would."

Spock shook his head slowly. "At that moment, I already considered you mine. In my overexcited frame of mind, solidifying our natural like-mindedness through permanent joining seemed a technicality. Clearly, I made an immense presumption, and would have attempted an indefensible breach of your mental integrity as well as your emotions." 

Jim glanced away, his lips pressed slightly together. As he did so, his hand brushed down Spock's arm and fell to the mattress. He sat without speaking, gaze still cast down, for several minutes.

At first Spock held still, mentally noting the passage of seconds to give his mind a point of focus. His erection had softened as they continued to speak, as had Jim's. But they had remained in their intimate positions throughout, Spock straddling Jim, his hands curled around Jim's sides. Now, however, he waited for Jim to realize the severity of Spock's offence and act out his resulting unease, pulling away or shoving Spock aside. 

Yet after a few additional seconds passed, Jim merely began to comb his fingers through Spock's hair once again, a thoughtful look on his face. 

Utterly naked, conscious of the weight of his body against Jim's frame, deliberately laying his lamentable transgressions before Jim -- Spock could think of no additional way to make himself more vulnerable. Yet at the same time this close contact with Jim -- particularly with Jim's affectionate touch, now transmuted into a light massage against the side of Spock's head -- also threatened to break down Spock's resolve that they must fully confront this serious matter. 

Clearing his throat, Spock moved off, shifting so that instead of remaining hovering over Jim, they were repositioned side-by-side on the bed. 

Jim turned toward him without complaint, his expression still contemplative. Spock mirrored him, rolling on his side to face Jim. 

"It occurs to me I should broaden your consideration of my trespass by supplying greater perspective regarding my inappropriate intentions," Spock said hoarsely. "Jim, what I did would be considered unforgivable on my planet. Further --"

"But you didn't do it," Jim said simply. He glided his palm down Spock's side, resting it where Spock's heart beat strongest.

Hesitantly, Spock met his gaze. "Jim, you do not fully comprehend the gravity --"

"No, I think I've got it, actually," Jim said. "You might have done something really intrusive, but you didn't, okay? And obviously you weren't in your right mind when you thought it was the best idea ever." As he went on, his voice filled with resolve. "I mean, even right now you look horrified at the idea, or as horrified looking as a Vulcan can get. I'm not in danger of you trying that without asking me now, am I?"

"Were we to meld at this moment," Spock began. He stopped, collecting himself with some difficulty. Raising the possibility of melding with Jim and knowing he must subsequently deny himself sent an ache through his chest. "If we melded," he continued gruffly, "I would not initiate a bond between us. Nor would I ever do so until I was convinced you fully understood and completely accepted that level of intimacy and commitment."

"Okay," Jim nodded, appearing satisfied. A moment later he smiled at Spock and said, "So let's do it. Meld, I mean."

Spock nearly reeled backwards, so surprised was he by this unexpected and confident pronouncement. He composed himself and said slowly, "Though I would welcome with all that I am the chance to meld with you in the future, this may not be the opportune time."

"Seems like the right time to me," Jim argued. Though he shrugged as if his opposing position was merely a casual stance, stubborn determination glimmered in his eyes. "If we really want to explore this potential connection between us, isn't this a good way to start?"

"I do not know if your logic is sound," Spock murmured. He placed his hand flat on Jim's chest, though whether to hinder his advancement closer to Jim or keep them in close proximity he could not immediately discern. But no, already he could feel himself leaning in. His fingers began to twitch an infinitesimal amount, as though his body had already agreed to initiate this coveted connection no matter Spock's reasoning against it. 

"I trust you," Jim said. His eyes were warm as he covered Spock's hand over his heart with his own. 

"Perhaps you should not," Spock reasoned weakly. "I have, though in part unwittingly, concealed things from you. Additionally, I have repeatedly refused your efforts to begin a recognized romance between us beyond our erotic encounters. You yourself only hours ago expressed concern regarding my sudden change from hindering our emotional familiarity to striving to strengthen our relationship. Why should you trust me now?"

"Call it a hunch," Jim said. He squeezed Spock's hand, a quick gesture of comfort. 

"I must remind you that in the past, you have embraced risks too readily," Spock offered as one last point of resistance. After all, he could not help but recollect some of Jim's Starfleet file materials mentioning his youthful foolhardy escapades. "One might contend you, of all people, should not rush headlong toward potential jeopardy again." 

"Me of all people, huh?" Jim smiled to himself as he stroked along Spock's hand, rubbing the web of skin between his fingers gently. "Well, maybe it's not how other people do things, but it's always gotten me where I need to go." He met Spock's eyes, his own gaze clear and resolved. "I want to try this." 

"I cannot resist much longer," Spock murmured.

"So don't," Jim countered.

"Very well." Excitement began to ratchet up through his system. He lifted his hand, hovering in midair for a second, and slid his fingertips into place. The mere touch enabled him to feel the jump of Jim's pulse, the minute increase in his body heat, the flicker of energy hinting at Jim's alluringly vibrant mind. 

Jim closed his eyes, his face muscles tensed, his heartbeat quickening. 

"My mind to your mind," Spock murmured. "My thoughts to your thoughts --"

Joining their minds -- the configurations of Jim's thoughts overlaying his own -- the intuitiveness of Jim wordlessly rushing to Spock with surprise and delight -- the sensation of effusive joy that they were for this moment in time, _one_ \-- it was like finding intricate patterns in star systems as Spock gazed at the night sky by himself as a small child; like discovering the awe-inspiring beauty of the Fibonacci sequence as a lonely young student; like realizing on the setting out of his first starship voyage that he would soon touch ground on a multitude of worlds.

And throughout the meld, Jim's bright, enticing emotions and thoughts saturated Spock's mental landscape -- their sudden presence dizzying, marvelous, somehow both utterly foreign and beautifully familiar. The rush of feelings he sent to Jim in reply felt welcomed, cherished, and he let his heart unfurl like tight petals fanning out in the sun's light.

They clung to one another, both in the meld and out of it: he felt Jim's lips against his, the deep fierce kiss they had moved into almost as soon as their mental connection truly established itself.  
Soon Spock ended up above Jim and they surged together with renewed arousal, striving to connect their bodies as their minds enfolded. 

"Spock," Jim gasped, and the passion in his cry roused Spock to surface consciousness. Half in a blissful fog, he carefully pulled back from the meld to regard his partner.

Jim was flushed pink, his hair tugged into disarray, his lips red with kisses that had involved ardent biting. The color on his cheeks once again swept over his toned form, and the engaging hue made Spock wish immediately to trace it thoroughly with his hands and tongue. 

Jim panted as he caught Spock about the neck with loosely clasped hands. "That? Was seriously awesome. Give me like two seconds and then let's go again," he said, half plea and half command.

Happiness rushed through Spock with such force that he could not contain its expression. He offered Jim a small smile.

"Hey," Jim said softly, relaxing against the pillow and smiling back. "You should do that all the time."

"It is highly doubtful I will," Spock replied at once, though he affectionately kissed the tips of Jim's fingertips when they traced the upward curve of his lips.

Jim grinned. "Well, even if you won't, can I just say I'm seriously honored that I'm probably one of the few people who's gotten to see it?"

"You may," Spock said archly, smiling again when Jim laughed aloud. He caught Jim's hand and brushed his lips reverently across the knuckles.

"So," Jim said, obviously attempting to parody of one of Spock's inquisitive expressions when he arched an eyebrow in question. "Ever meld with a guy and sex him up at the same time?"

"I have not," Spock admitted.

"Oh, good; me neither," Jim said with a wink.

"You are irrepressible," Spock said. Though he made his voice stern, he doubted he had succeeded at hiding his relish for this playfulness. 

"Come on. You like me that way."

"Conceding that seems inadvisable."

" _Spock_. Don't deny you want to try it too," Jim wheedled. He wriggled slightly to emphasize his resumed arousal. 

Spock sat back on his heels between Jim's spread legs and loosely cupped Jim's tight scrotal sac in his palm, enjoying the emanation of heat. He rolled his hand lightly, watching Jim twist eagerly at the touch. When he lightly caressed the soft skin further back, Jim helplessly rolled his hips up and made an impatient noise.

Spock leaned forward so he could nuzzle Jim's temple. "How do you wish for me to take you?" he inquired in a low whisper.

"Fuck, just when I thought it couldn't get any hotter," Jim murmured, his pelvis jerking forward.

"On the bed with your legs splayed, writhing below me?" Spock reached down to stroke along the inside of Jim's thigh, avidly watching Jim tremble. "Your back braced against the wall, as in our first erotic encounter when I supported your weight almost entirely?" He trailed his fingers up and lightly massaged the soft skin and coarse bronze hair at the base of Jim's cock. "Or would you prefer to be on your hands and knees, rocking forward as I drive into you and grasp your hips to bolster my thrusts?"

Jim gaped. "All of that sounds really, really good," he croaked out after a pause. "I vote, uh, stay here on the bed, and let's just see what happens."

Spock nodded in acquiescence before he flipped Jim onto his side and slid into place behind him.

"Or this, which didn't even make the list," Jim said, sounding amused.

"It is quite reasonable to conduct our copulation from this position. I find all perspectives of you pleasing, but I have had fewer occasions to appreciate your back and gluteal muscles, and so wish to avail myself of the opportunity now," Spock obliged his current impulse with a few firm strokes over the forenamed parts before he squeezed the appealingly plump buttocks. "Additionally, this position provides access to your psi points, readily reached even during vigorous coitus." 

Jim snorted even as he pressed backward against Spock's stiff cock. "I have no idea how you make half the things you say sound sexy, but right on, let's try it out."

Spock reached over Jim's torso to obtain the container of lubricant and the scattered condoms. When he drew back with the packets in his grasp, Jim halted him with a light stroke along Spock's forefinger. 

"Jim? Are you still amenable?" Spock asked. He drew back somewhat to provide space between them.

"Like a thousand percent amenable." Jim reached behind himself to clasp Spock's hip in a reassuring grip. "It's just -- I know you probably just got tested every which way when they were trying to figure out what was going on with you. So what do you say, maybe before we do this next time I'll swing by Medical myself, just make sure everything checks out for me? That way we won't have to use one of these again." 

For a moment Spock nosed at the back of Jim's neck, inhaling deeply. "Yes," he whispered. "That would please me greatly." Certainly he knew that he must give Jim time to consider deepening their tie, but he could not quash the bursts of hope that went through him at every sign they were gaining greater closeness. "I will of course verify that I myself have been appropriately tested."

"Good. Because I want to feel you, all of you," Jim said in a low voice. He squeezed Spock's hip harder. 

The pressure brought Spock flush against Jim's warm skin again, and he mouthed roughly along Jim's neck, gazing with satisfaction at the mark his teeth made a moment later. "I am entirely in agreement," Spock answered earnestly, even as he hurriedly undid the lubricant cap.

Jim looked over his shoulder, grinning, though when Spock slid a slicked finger down to tease at his sensitive rim, his lips parted and his eyes fluttered closed. 

"You greatly enjoy this portion of the proceedings," Spock said with satisfaction several moments later as Jim's hips worked fitfully to increase the speed and depth of Spock's fingers gliding in and out. 

"Well, okay, obviously, but you don't have to act so smug about it," Jim said. He braced one palm against the mattress to support his counter-movements. 

"I am merely stating facts," Spock said. 

He took his time in order to prove his point, penetrating Jim with plenty of lubrication, enjoying the way Jim began to bite his lip and stroke his own body, fingers trailing over his throat and caressing down his chest. 

When Jim finally snaked a hand down to curl around his erection, Spock nipped at his earlobe. "Did I instruct you that you could touch yourself already?"

Jim groaned as if greatly put out. "Seriously?" But despite his petulant response, he lifted his hand, wriggling the fingers in the air to demonstrate his compliance. When Spock skillfully twisted two fingers inside him, however, he abandoned his overly-exaggerated gesture, seizing a portion of the bedclothes in his fist and letting out an excited cry.

Spock obviously intended to proceed to the next stage of their erotic encounter. Yet for the moment he found himself entirely engrossed in observing every shiver of Jim's gorgeous body, in absorbing every appealing noise Jim made. Entirely captivated, he watched greedily for cues and made slight modifications, adjusting his angle and degree of penetration to coax out increasingly desperate reactions while with his free hand he soothingly caressed the flexing curve of Jim's buttocks.

Eventually Jim's sounds became more and more frantic. "Spock! How about you get inside me already?" 

"I believe I am." Spock twisted his fingers carefully, earning himself a gasp.

"You know what I mean," Jim snapped, his voice shaky as he pushed back. 

"What if I wish to see you achieve pleasure from this act alone?" Spock asked in as solemn a tone as he could manage.

"Okay, but remember we said we were going to fuck _and_ meld," Jim said, irritation beginning to seep through the arousal in his voice.

"I am certain I never uttered those precise words. Still, I will do my best to accommodate you." At that Spock removed his fingers, wiping his hand on the top blanket. But when Jim moaned, " _Finally_ ," instead of immediately penetrating him as Jim clearly desired, Spock spread Jim's buttocks so that he could press his cock in the cleft between them.

He grunted as he slid his erection along the path already slippery from the lubrication, the head of his cock rocking forward as if aiming at the dimples above Jim's backside. 

"You are the biggest tease," Jim complained. His hand moved restlessly over his chest, thumbing over his hard nipples in time with Spock's stuttering thrusts. 

"Surely this orientation of our bodies will suffice for an act of intimacy that is both physical and mental in nature." Spock leaned back somewhat, his hand gripping Jim's shoulder, so that he might more fully observe his olive flushed erection juddering forward and back between those highly attractive curves. 

"Ah, fuck," Jim panted. He drew his top leg up slightly and angled forward so that he might achieve some measure of friction against the mattress. "This is totally -- _cheating_ \-- unhh --" He managed several inelegant thrusts in his awkward position, huffing along with his desperate moves, before Spock pulled him back to his chest. 

"I believe you are obeying the letter but not the spirit of the law," Spock pointed out. He ignored Jim's squawk of indignation, gathering him tightly to prevent him from seeking direct stimulus.

"Yeah, well, look who's talking, mister spirit of the law yourself," Jim shot back. "What do you want me to do, beg? Because you've got me way too worked up for that right now! So come on and fuck me, would you?"

"At times you are very demanding," Spock told him. But any further delay was merely pretense; despite the surprisingly gratifying experience of tormenting Jim with denied pleasure, Spock could no longer postpone fulfilling his own need. He quickly retrieved a condom from its packet to unroll along his erection. 

"Oh, yeah," Jim breathed out when Spock at last slowly entered him. "That's so good, unh -- " He drew his leg up higher, gripping behind his knee, and whimpered. When Spock re-angled and began plunging inside him steadily, Jim's approving words rapidly devolved into needy inarticulate cries.

Part of Spock focused closely on Jim's fretful stimulated noises, on what he could glimpse of the feverish expressions flickering over his marvelously animated face as their bodies moved in tandem. Much of his available concentration, however, found absorption in the enticing tightness of Jim's body and the feel of their muscles working together to attain greater heights of exhilaration. He quickly helped hold Jim's upper thigh to improve his access and give them both the most satisfying angle.

"Now you may touch yourself," Spock told Jim.

"Big of you," Jim muttered before he quickly fisted his hand around his cock. But soon he faltered in his rhythm. "This is -- I love the feel of you fucking me from behind, but I can't --" Jim blurted, frustrated as he tried to tug his cock and maintain the position they had adopted. 

"Allow me," Spock said solicitously. He embraced Jim tightly and used his thigh muscles to roll them into a kneeling position, one behind the other, himself still inserted and driving into Jim. With Jim's legs now astride Spock's, Jim effectively gained the power to control the approach and speed of penetration. 

"Spock, oh my god, fuck me, _fuck_ \-- you feel amazing," Jim cried out. He reached one hand over his shoulder to clutch blindly at Spock's hair as he rose up and dropped down on Spock's member. 

"You are perfection itself," Spock said, his voice rumbling so low he could not say for certain whether Jim heard him. He kept his left hand on Jim's side, letting the motion turn the hold into quick strokes as he repeatedly jolted his hips up in counterpoint whenever Jim sank down. 

They reached for Jim's cock at the same time, entwining their fingers to pull at the hard length together. They maintained the tempo for several strokes before Jim made a sound of pure agitation, his body beginning to tense in ecstasy.

Spock quickly let go of Jim's erection to free his hand. "Now?" he panted in Jim's ear, adjusting his fingers into place against Jim's temple.

"Now, now, now," Jim exclaimed, his hand working his cock to match Spock's rhythm. 

Spock swiftly intoned the customary words; their minds immediately joined. 

The rush was heady, the frantic pace in pursuit of pleasure on the physical plane now mirrored and intensified with thoughts and desires and sensations intermingling in a breathtaking fusion. And just beyond Spock's reach, there for the taking if he only made the slightest effort, he could sense the strands of their separate selves, ready to interweave and strengthen. 

He wrapped his free arm around Jim's chest, holding him as close as he dared. _Ashal-veh_ ," he choked out; his fingers itched to trace the endearment in Golic on Jim's skin, to see it inked there permanently.

"Spock," Jim gasped out, his body tightening around Spock as his orgasm overtook him.

Spock gave a wordless cry as he too let slip his control, giving them both over to the exhilaration.

They shuddered together with pleasure, heavy breaths evening out and matching one another's. Spock snapped his hips up in the final release even as Jim slumped back breathlessly against him. 

A moment later they fell to their sides against the mattress, still connected. 

Spock allowed himself one last indulgent moment to drift along with Jim in the intertwined meld. His fierce joy met and mixed with Jim's sleepy affection, the two heightened impulses tempering gradually into a marvelous contentment pervading them both. Too long in this state bore risks of a bond forming even if Spock took great care not to allow it, but the sensations proved hard to relinquish.

At last he drew back, a bittersweet ache filling him at the prospect of pulling away. Under cover of pressing kisses to Jim's shoulder, he mouthed the word _Mine_ , ignoring the part of him that whispered the reminder, _Not wholly -- not yet_.

"Mrrph," Jim said incoherently. He shivered, hanging on to Spock's arm encircling him. 

"Remain here." Spock kissed Jim's temple before making quick work of disposing of the condom. In the bathroom, he quickly washed himself in a rudimentary fashion before he located a soft cloth and wet it with warm water. 

When he returned, Jim yawned and stretched, blue eyes blinking up at Spock, his skin rosy and still heated to the touch. He was nothing less than lovely, sprawled there awaiting Spock's arrival. Spock's heart thumped hard in his side to think of the possibility of Jim in his bed to greet him not just now but regularly, even daily, perhaps even for the rest of their lives. 

Spock presumably offered a rational justification for cleaning Jim off himself rather than handing the cloth over, for though he did not recollect his precise words later, Jim gave him a lopsided grin and allowed Spock to commence. He murmured agreeably as Spock moved him this way and that, his limbs seeming heavier with satiation. 

Having completed his task, Spock drew down the blankets and joined Jim in slipping underneath them.

Before long they arranged themselves by mutual, though silent, consent, Spock resting on his back, Jim half-draped over Spock's chest. 

"So. That wasn't it, was it?" Jim asked after a few moments had passed without remark.

Spock paused in the act of smoothing Jim's tousled hair. "Explain." 

Jim snorted as if amused, but he immediately elaborated. "That wasn't -- we didn't bond just now. Did we? Because it felt pretty powerful at the end there." He moved to rest his chin on his folded arms atop Spock's chest, watching Spock carefully.

Spock shook his head quickly to assuage Jim's concerns. "Though you are correct that the joining we experienced was very potent, we are not bonded at this point." 

"Oh." To Spock's surprise, Jim appeared disappointed instead of relieved.

"I had thought when you proposed we attempt the meld that one of the deciding factors for you was my assurance that I would take particular care not to establish a bond between us," Spock began, somewhat baffled at Jim's reaction.

"No, you're totally right." Jim shrugged, his eyes cast down as if he had dedicated himself to studying Spock's pectoral muscles closely. 

A wild thought rose in Spock's mind; he struggled to contain the answering elation it invariably engendered. He wished to speak clearly and ascertain Jim's reaction to their situation accurately, and he could not do so if he allowed euphoria to sweep through him.

"You perhaps hoped we would find ourselves spontaneously bonded?" he managed to ask Jim calmly. 

"I guess I'm liking the idea way more than I thought I would." Jim met Spock's gaze again. "I felt how incredible it was, being connected to you, that amazing way our minds met, and I --" 

He paused for a moment. Spock forced himself to wait patiently rather than again suggesting an interpretation of Jim's thinking.

"I didn't want to lose it," Jim finished at last. "I didn't want to lose the chance to have --" He shook his head, apparently unable to continue. With a shaky breath, he looked to the side, as if he could not trust himself to regard Spock directly at the moment. 

"You will not lose the chance," Spock told him. "My regard for you remains undiminished."

"So you would still want to, probably, somewhere down the line," Jim said. He had regained some control over himself, but Spock could recognize at once the hints of hesitation and vulnerability that seemed to color so much of Jim's outwardly boisterous reactions. 

Spock squeezed the nape of Jim's neck before he gently massaged the slight tension that had stiffened Jim's shoulders. "Having known my mind, as you now have, do you still not understand that I desire to have you fully, all that you are, joined with everything that I am?"

"I get it, yeah, just --" Jim glanced down again. "Maybe it's stupid to worry you might have changed your mind because you just saw 'all that I am.' But I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you did think twice." He looked up again, managing a tremulous smile.

"That is not the case," Spock told him. "Connecting to you only affirmed my determination to gain whatever intimacies you will grant me."

Jim's tongue darted out nervously, wetting his lips. "Okay. Yeah. I hear what you're saying, and I know -- I shouldn't think that any more. It's hard to doubt where you're coming from, after how we came together, when I can feel how much you --" He looked up, startled into silence at whatever had occurred to him, his cheeks flushing.

Spock reached out and cradled Jim's jaw. "When you can feel how much I cherish you?"

Jim's eyes shone as he gave a single nod. 

When Spock tugged him forward tenderly, Jim went without reservation, flinging himself forward with such gusto that Spock, who generally found human force easy to manage, briefly felt the air expelled from his lungs. Spock bore it without complaint; indeed, he could only welcome this act, however briefly uncomfortable it felt, as additional evidence that Jim dearly wished for the same closeness Spock himself desired.

"I still need a little while, I think," Jim said some time later, his voice muffled against Spock's chest. 

"Before you might agree to bond," Spock supplied. He rubbed Jim's shoulder and smoothed his hand along his upper back, pleased with the feel of soft warm skin under his palm. "I will not rush your decision. I am content to have you here like this." _With the possibility of more to come_ , his mind supplied, but he did not voice this addition. 

"Mmm. That's probably good, because I don't think I want to move ever," Jim said, his voice sleepy and soft. He rubbed his cheek against Spock's chest hair and settled against Spock more heavily.

"Though I imagine you will soon change your opinion about your prospects for future mobility, if you were to share these quarters with me, you would not have to depart from the immediate area at any time, unless of course you had duties to attend to or you wished to," Spock said.

Despite just stating he didn't want to move, Jim at once half-rose to face Spock, mouth agape. "Are you asking me to move in with you right now?"

"I am technically merely introducing the subject," Spock said. "I have not made a specific proposal, and thus I do not require an answer from you at this time."

Jim stared at him for a few moments. Then he laughed aloud. "Okay. It's a little soon, but hey. I suppose we blasted right past the explore-the-relationship-stage with the mind meld, anyway." He glanced about himself, as though reassessing his environment in light of this new turn in the conversation. "You ever live with anyone else?" he ventured.

Spock shook his head slowly. "Other than family members, no. Though the topic has arisen in brief relationships in the past, I have never had the desire to merge households with a romantic partner."

"I guess if we did bond down the road, we'd live together then anyway," Jim said to himself.

"Obviously," Spock said. 

Jim pressed his lips together, looking like he was trying not to grin. "Bones would totally kill me."

"He would not," Spock objected, glaring even though Jim had clearly employed a human figure of speech.

Jim looked down, lightly tracing Spock's musculature along his torso. Though there was no direct indication of his agreement, Spock felt a pleasant hum in his system at Jim's posture and expression, for he seemed to only defer the decision rather than reject it outright. 

"Though I attach no particular urgency to your arrival at a final decision regarding this matter, I should note that such an arrangement would bring advantages to us both," Spock added helpfully. "By sharing an apartment, we would eliminate transportation delays in seeing one another during our leisure time, thereby gaining extra hours for you to devote to your studies or for me to attend to my teaching obligations."

Jim nodded solemnly, though his eyes held a mischievous spark. "That probably is true."

"Additionally, having a supportive partner in your home environment would no doubt also be of benefit, bolstering your emotional well-being. With greater happiness in your private life, you could pursue your studies and Starfleet career goals with greater concentration and confidence."

"Yeah?" Jim asked, smiling crookedly. 

"Indeed. And regular attendance to your sensual needs, as I would of course supply with great enthusiasm as your partner, would allow you to work through your erotic energies with pleasure. Furthermore, such restorative activities would permit you to focus your other attentions on crucial matters, ensuring your advancement, and overall level of personal satisfaction."

Jim laughed. "Can't argue with that. Move in, have regular sex, totally logical."

"It is quite rational to make accommodation for such an outlet in your day-to-day life," Spock assured him.

"Well, we should always try to be rational," Jim said, clearly amused. 

"Always," Spock echoed readily.

"Still, it's kind of a big step. I should probably think about it before we decide anything." Jim looked away, but his eyes darted back to Spock before they again focused on some point across the room. 

"I understand you must process the decision fully." Spock stilled for a moment, and then began to pull away. He did not wish to vacate the bed at this moment, but if Jim needed time and space to consider, he would supply it in whatever quantities required. 

"Hey," Jim objected, grabbing Spock's wrist so that he could not depart. "I should think about it, clearly, but you know, I'm open to you convincing me while I think about it. Logically," he added, scooting closer to Spock, adding, "with lots of logical hot sex."

"I would find such a task highly pleasurable," Spock agreed, immediately beginning to kiss his way down Jim's chest, and nuzzling his abdomen as Jim laughed.

 

***~* the end *~***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy to share this final chapter of Logical Erotics with you! I would be so pleased to hear your thoughts and reactions now that the story is complete. <3
> 
> The story has been an absolute pleasure to work on. And though the process took longer than I originally anticipated, I've enjoyed all the stages of writing and revising this fic. Many thanks to the commenters who spoke about what moments they found particularly memorable, or told me how they felt about the characters, or just took the time to mention they were reading and enjoying the story. All of you have been instrumental in encouraging me as I kept writing and revising, and it's been lovely engaging with you throughout posting these chapters! 
> 
> Thank you again to my fantastic betas, [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines) and [laisserais](http://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais)! They read this fic with such care, and raised crucial points and thoughtful questions throughout the beta reading process. I'm truly grateful for their help. 
> 
> If you like, [check me out over at tumblr](http://entrenous88.tumblr.com/), for Star Trek (both TOS and AOS) flailing, updates about my fics, a smattering of posts about other fandoms, and occasional calls for prompts. Thank you all again!


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